Kingdom Come
by Serengeti Dawn
Summary: Chapter 15 up...A night that will forever alter the course of Animasia steadily ticks away as Elisa, Belle and Ella unknowingly hold its fate in their hands.
1. Remember, It All Started With a Mouse

Copyright notice: The Disney characters mentioned within this story are in no way my own and it would be insulting to the men and women who, over the decades, have dreamed up these wonderful creations to claim them as my own property. I am merely one in a long line of scribblers to raise a pencil to the Disney entity and leave my own tiny mark within it…

Kingdom Come

Take care of them, he said, and Mickey promised he would.

They don't know what lies out there. Protect them from the world that would harm them, and keep the world in the dark for as long as possible. This world…this whole mess of humanity…they don't deserve to know what joy could live among them.

It was a horrendously pessimistic statement for the old man, so unlike the ever-benevolence he deferred upon the public. The minutes were too, too quickly slipping away into the void of the irrevocable past.

Take care of them. Their future now lies with you…

The conversation played over inside Mickey's head as he walked down the long corridor to Misner's office. Walt's dying wish had been echoing inside his head more often as of late, mocking the Mouse's apparent inability to do much of anything. "Corporate Symbol" seemed to be the only sway he held these days, though the others would, naturally, think otherwise. If they only knew…and yet, it was so good that they didn't know. It was almost better for them to keep believing that the outside world would be another new haven for them to explore rather than the mess of humanity Walt prophesied.

As Mickey approached the hidden door that lead into Misner's palatial, part-time executive suite, he could hear the CEO discussing the latest round of park budget cuts with Mursler.

"I don't understand why the plush isn't selling as well as it should be," the Mouse heard Mursler say. Mickey inwardly sighed. Phil Mursler had done brilliantly when he oversaw the Disney Stores, but now, as Chief of Theme Park Operations, the man simply did not understand how to manage the parks. He judged the success of each park on how well merchandise sold- and Misner seemed quite willing to listen to that new measure of achievement.

There was some rattling of papers- attendance figures, conversion points, and all sorts of numerical markings that didn't give a hint as to the real reasons why the public still continued to flock to the parks.

Not that those two would ever get it.

Misner apparently seemed not to care too much today about how many Pluto plush were flying off the shelves. Instead, he switched topics, flinging Mursler's statement into the realm of the rhetorical. "How are the plans for the Millennium Celebration shaping up?"

"Fine, though I'm concerned about the cost of the pyrotechnics in the Epcot show."

Mickey's ears pricked up. _Don't touch it, don't touch it, don't touch it-_

"Don't worry about it, Phil. It's not like we're putting in a real pavilion in the World Showcase." Both men laughed.

Shaking his head, Mickey rang pushed the button that lead to a little blinking light on Misner's desk, signaling to the CEO that the Mouse was ready to chat with him.

As the laughter died down, Misner told Phil to keep up the good work and excused the minion. Mickey heard the shuffling of rubber soles on carpet meandering away, the closing of the large oak door and the soft click of the lock. The door in front of Mickey slid open and the mouse stepped out into the office.

"Hello, Mickey," came the automatic response from the CEO.

"Hiya, Nick," Mickey returned, somewhat coolly. "You rang?"

"I did. Have a seat."

Hopping up into one of the leather chairs in front of Misner's desk, Mickey watched the seemingly congenial face of the human, already sensing trouble. "What's up?"

Nicholas seemed to ponder his next statement, the creases in his high forehead furrowing into deep lines. "You know that the new millennium will be starting in less than a year."

Mickey nodded, wondering where this would be leading. "You've been talking about it for a while now."

"Yes, I have." He leaned back into his chair, clasping his hands together on the desk. "And we've been going over designs for Epcot, as you know, and the fireworks, the parade, the new pavilion and the other things we're going to do company wide…but it still seems very empty."

A shiver started at the tip of his tail and itched its way up into Mickey's back.

"So, Mickey, I was wondering: what if, on the eve of a new millennium, the world finally got to discover the Toons?"

The far-off ticking of a clock echoed Mickey's thoughts.

no

no

no

"You're…you're serious, aren't you, Nick?" he finally squeaked.

"Very." The human looked at him, puzzled, having the audacity to be confused. "You're not fond of the idea?"

"Good gosh, Nick, of course I'm not!" Mickey exploded, his high voice pitched with maddened frustration.

"Why?"

"Because, it's-it's…" His voice trailed off, overwhelmed by the sheer number of reasons to keep them hidden. Finally, he sputtered an irate, "You know that can't happen!"

"Why not? You don't think it could work now?"

"No."

"But-"

"No, Nicholas. Not now. Not ever. Good-bye." Tail swishing in anger, Mickey sprang up from his chair and stormed over to his passageway.

"It's not just you and the duck anymore," Misner called out behind him. "Not everyone who lives in Animasia wants to stay there. That's what prisons are for."

Mickey tried not to let himself be baited, but the barb hung ugly in the quietness of the hallway. "You know it ain't a prison, Nick."

"I know. They don't. And they won't know until they find out for themselves what they're missing."

"Nicholas…" Mickey sighed, turning back around.

"Mickey, what good is immortality if you never get to live?"

The Mouse stared at the man for the longest five seconds Mickey had ever known. "Have a good night, Nick," came the final reply.

Misner just shook his head and muttered something to himself that Mickey had no intention of deciphering. He left, the door sliding quietly behind him.

As he stormed away, he had a hard time uncurling his clenched fists stuffed deep inside his pockets. _What good is immortality_…rubbish. Misner was hardly one to rhapsodize on the pros and cons of eternal youth. His philosophy matched many of the men Mickey had the unfortunate happenstance of knowing over the course of the decades: live hard, drink harder, and accumulate as much wealth as possible by screwing over as many people as possible.

Their immortality was a gift, not a gimmick to increase revenue. He would figure out a way to die before he let some profit-monger turn their world into the latest theme park.

Mickey continued his walk down the cement hallway until he reached a dark stairwell. As he approached, lights began to flicker on, a spiral of glowing lanterns twisting its way hundreds of feet below. He smiled when he remembered Walt telling him about the conniptions the building contractors kept having at Walt's insistence of this underground passageway. The swampy muck of the Sunshine State was hardly the ideal ground for such deep trenching, yet here it was still holding strong.

Magic, Mickey mused grimly, nearing the secured entrance to Animasia. The same magic that brought life to Disney's creations also kept them hidden from the ever-prying eyes of the world. The doors that led into Animasia would only open if someone from Animasia stood waiting to enter; no human, not even Walt had entered the sanctity of their world.

He stood at the massive, arched doorway, staring at the gilded scrollwork adorning the gleaming mahogany boards. The fleur-de-leis and twisting vine metalwork gleamed brightly in the softly lit darkness, a slightly disconcerting effect as no one ever polished the metal. Odd. So many times he had left through these doors to talk, to listen, to be a silent witness to the events that shaped the company's future. Never, in all of those decades, had he ever stopped to simply look at this barrier.

Not barrier.

Protectorate.

Against what?

Outside.

Them.

Those who would exploit.

Had he always been so jaded?

Were all people unscrupulous morons? Was he simply enforcing- no, not enforcing- keeping a promise that was ultimately made in the delirium of mortality?

Minnie would know.

Without another moment's thought, he strode forward and entered into the glow of his home, his world, his kingdom.


	2. Dramatis Personae

Copyright notice: Disney is not mine. The Disney characters are not mine. I am scum compared to the Disney Company.

Dramatis Personae

Belle saw the note before it had even left Mowgli's hand. The constant twirlings of his pencil showed an unusually prolific spurt of energy he rarely showed towards multiplication tables. Eyebrow arched, she watched as he meticulously folded the sheet of looseleaf and passed it over to Huey. The receiver stole a glance at her while she pretended to be grading assignments, then quickly snuck the note into the crease of his textbook. Carefully, he unfolded the piece of paper and almost simultaneously stifled what would have been a pronounced guffaw.

She sighed inwardly, hating this part of the job. Succumb to the role of disciplinarian or let the students get away with a minor infraction that could potentially lead to greater disobedience?

An audible snicker from Louie cemented her decision. Without looking up from her papers, Belle announced, "Louie, you've just given the entire class the privilege of writing a five-page essay on the importance of the geo-political climate during the last days of Tsarist Russia unless I have that note in my hand in the next 10 seconds."

She got the desired result. As the rest of the class shot dagger eyes at the culprit, Louie tripped over his webbed feet scrambling to get to her desk within the time limit. He arrived, breathless and more worried than she had ever seen a student. "Ms. Belle, I really don't think you should look at that," he quacked in a low voice, hesitantly giving her the note.

Taking the paper away from resisting hands, she frowned, appraising her student. "Now I'm going to have to open it, Louie. If it's something that you don't want the teacher to see, the last place you should share it is in class."

"But I didn't write-"

"But you received it, and you read it. And because of that, I need you to stay after class." Looking up, she added, "Mowgli, Huey, that goes for you as well."

An ashen-faced Mowgli and a reddening Huey nodded their horrified assent as Louie came trudging back to their corner. All three of them immediately returned to their schoolwork, never looking up as their classmates pelted them with questioning eyes.

At her desk, Belle sighed, then began to unfold the incriminating sheet of paper. What met her eyes was not the sophomoric joke or cootie-laden drivel she expected. Instead, a crudely drawn figure of herself lay on the crumpled page, her body replete with jaguar spots, fangs, and a striped tail. A caption above it scrawled, "Maybe he'll think I'm hot now." On the margin of the paper was the faint erased outline of Beast's face with oversized hearts for his eyes.

She wasn't sure how long she stared at the note, but she knew she had better stop when she felt her cheeks radiating heat. Refraining from tearing it up in front of her class, she slid it into the top drawer of her desk and busied herself with grading the long division homework she had been working on previously. But the numbers kept floating off and on the sheets; her concentration shot, she simply resorted to thumbing through the lessons plans for the next day and longing for the end of the current day so she could go home and curl up with…a mug of tea and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

The end-of-the-day bell couldn't sound sweeter when it rang later, its knell rich in promising undertones. As most of the students filed out, Belle smiled and returned their quizzes that most had passed with flying colors. After Simba and Nala finally scampered out with big grins on their faces and tests firmly clamped in their mouths, Belle's smile faded and she turned her attention to the rabble-rousers.

The three of them had cleared their desks and were sitting very still, not even looking at each other for reassurance. Each knew they would find none.

Belle walked over to her desk and grabbed the note. Slowly, she walked around to the front and leaned on the desk, her skirt flowing down the chiseled woodwork. She looked at them for a long, solid minute before asking Mowgli, "Why were you writing notes today in class?"

He looked up at her from his still fingers and evenly replied, "I was bored."

The countless hours she had spent creating new lesson plans weighed on her as she shook her head. "At least you're being honest," she sighed.

"I'm not good at multiplying things."

"Mowgli, that's not a reason for disrupting the rest of class."

"I didn't mean to- I just wanted to share a joke with my friends."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to share a joke. But everyone should be laughing then, not just a few of you."

"You're not laughing, Ms. Belle, are you?"

"No, Mowgli. I'm not."

A meek, "I'm sorry," came the last reply.

She straightened up, looking at the three, at their petulant faces, at their wide round eyes, and couldn't tell if they were genuinely remorseful or just sorry they had been caught. Deciding on the latter, Belle took a moment to weigh sentencing before telling them, "You three know better, so I'm not going to accept a simple apology. What I would like instead is for each of you to write a paper about what makes a joke funny, and why they can be misinterpreted. And it should be two pages long. Single spaced."

There was no groaning. Instead, they simply collected their books and sulked out of the classroom, leaving Belle alone with thoughts that she refused to dwell upon. Sinking down into her swivel chair, Belle opened the drawer with the crammed note and opened it again, wondering what was circulating about her behind her back that even the kids were picking up on.

"Darling?"

Startled, Belle immediately crumpled the sheet and discreetly tossed it into the wastebasket, then looked up. Gaston leaned in the doorway of the schoolhouse, his broad figure darkened in the silhouette against the midday sunlight outside. He strode into the room, gallant face puzzled. "Is everything all right?"

Forcing a smile, she nodded. "Just meting out a couple of reprimands. Let me grab my cloak."

Gaston wasn't buying it. "My love, you seem distracted," he said, stepping around the desk and starting to massage Belle's neck. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

The hundreds of responses that could have sprung out of her lips failed to meet them. She looked up at her beau, continued the smile, and happily lied, "Nothing that would interest you…unless mathematics have suddenly become your forte."

He laughed, a hearty guffaw. "Of course not! In that case, would you like to get going?"

"Yes," she replied, genuinely relieved. "I'll be right back." She stood and walked to the adjoining room where her cloak and books lay.

While she was gone, Gaston picked up the paper he saw Belle throw away earlier and looked it over. His jaw locked and fists tightened, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. Rather, he balled it up and shoved it into his coat pocket, safe from prying eyes, to be contemplated upon later.

Belle returned, fastening her cloak over her shoulders. "I'm afraid I won't be very good company tonight," she apologized, gesturing to all of the ungraded homework assignments.

"I don't think you'll have to worry about those, darling. Apparently, there's a Town Hall meeting tonight."

"Really?"

"Everyone's supposed to come."

"What's it about?"

"Don't know. But it sounded important."

As they walked out of the schoolhouse, Belle looked down at the stack of papers in her bag. "Then I suppose these can just wait one more night," she declared, suddenly enjoying the end of the school day and the prospect of an evening filled with adult conversations.

Well, more or less.

* * *

The red Fairlane sped down the deserted urban street, leaving behind a trail of exhaust in its wake. The radio inside crackled with a sadistic mirth.

"Late night again, Maza?"

Elisa picked up the CB and growled a short, "Knock it off, Matt."

"Is that a fair way to treat your partner?"

"When my partner's butting into my personal life, yes."

"Hey, c'mon. It's not like I asked what you and Goliath were doing up-"

"Want me to dock your pay?"

"We get paid for babysitting?"

"By the minute, partner."

"Really?" There was a short pause over the radio. "Do they just send it directly to workmen's comp?"

"Pension, actually."

"Ah. Mystery solved. Immortals never retire. No wonder we never seen a dime."

Elisa laughed, then yawned. She had got to get used to this routine. Staying up til dawn was only something for the weekends now, and Tuesday mornings were not, unfortunately, the weekend. Waking up five minutes before a shift started was not the best way to go about work.

Not that she regretted the circumstances that caused her late rising. She briefly let herself remember the events of the previous night, of the wind tangible between her fingertips, of Goliath-

"-somewhere in Cape Suzette. Who plotted these streets, anyway?"

"What was that, Matt?"

"I'm somewhere over in Cape Suzette, trying to get to Higher for Hire."

"Just keep going till you hit the coast and start driving north."

"So why aren't you here?"

"You're the one who got the short end of the straw. And you don't like going over to the Pride Lands."

"If they let me drive my car anywhere near that blasted rock of theirs…"

"Would you like someone mowing over your rosebushes?"

"No."

"Same thing."

A sigh blew over the radio. "Whatever. Head north?"

"Yeah. Hey, what do you think the meeting's about?"

"Beats me. Though it's been a long time since I've seen Mickey that somber."

"Not since the trial."

"Right."

Silence drifted over the wavelengths. Elisa watched at the familiar cityscape of some idealized New York slowly gave way to the long plains grasses and spindly trees of the Pride Lands. Almost instantaneous transportation was definitely a plus when running late.

"So I take it we're going to be running crowd control tonight."

"Along with the clan…and the others…"

"Swell…there it is."

"Found it, Bluestone?"

"Yeah…I'd probably better not park on the dock."

"Not unless you want a waterlogged car. Talk to you in a few."

Elisa rolled to a stop on the savanna dirt, well out of the shadow of Pride Rock. She wasn't too wild about having to walk a good half-mile when her car was perfectly serviceable, either, but she respected the reasons it was so. If a helicopter routinely circled her apartment every morning after her shift ended, she wouldn't be too happy with its presence, either. Besides, walking was good exercise and an excellent way to wake up her still-sluggish body.

Glancing behind as she walked towards the monolith, the city skyline had already faded away, replaced by the distant wintry slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro. She briefly wondered what a trek up that mountain might be like, but then immediately dismissed that notion as the only way to do it would be at night as the only companion she would have wanted to take that journey with would be viable during the dark hours.

A quiet rustle in the grasses ahead brought her attention back to the present. Anticipating what was coming, she steeled herself as a ball of fluff suddenly sprung up from the hidden ground at her midsection. The impact knocked her flat on her back, but she quickly sat up, grabbed the forelimbs of the attacking fluff ball and folded them into his chest, incapacitating the attack.

Simba wriggled, tail slashing wildly, but the cub knew when he was beaten. "Aw, man," he groaned, slipping out of her lap as Elisa stood, brushing dirt and grass off her backside. "Did you hear me coming?"

"Just barely, little guy," Elisa answered truthfully. "You definitely kept me on my toes."

"I was trying to keep you on the ground."

"Which is hardly the place where she belongs, Simba."

Both whirled around to see Mufasa and Taka standing behind them. Mufasa was trying hard to look stern, but the corners of his muzzle kept twitching upwards. His brother wore an apologetic smile, scarred green eyes quietly mirthful. "Good day, Detective," Taka greeted.

Grass-stained and dirt-streaked, Elisa dipped a quick, respectful bow towards the two adult lions. The overabundance of princes and princesses was one thing, but not showing any sort of deference to a 500-pound lion seemed kind of stupid. "Everyone get home okay?" she asked after straightening herself out.

Mufasa nodded, now breaking into a full-blown fatherly grin. "They did, Elisa, thank you. And thank Lexington again for creating that access pad. It's helped immensely with their grades."

"I gotta B+ on my last test!" Simba chimed in.

Elisa smiled. "Congratulations, little guy."

Simba beamed, pleased to catch the praise of the adults. "Thanks."

Looking back up, Elisa began, "So have you two heard about the meeting?"

"Yes," Mufasa answered, some of the smile fading away. "Zazu told us about it before the children came back home."

"Any idea what it's about, Detective?" Taka asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Judging by how reserved Mickey acted, I'm not expecting a barrel of laughs tonight."

"Do you think it might be about the Exiles?" Mufasa posed, lowering his voice to a quiet rumble. Simba looked up at his father, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

She shrugged. "I have ho idea. I doubt that he would get everyone together for an update, unless they had somehow broken free. But I think we'd already know if they had."

"Yes, they did seem to have a remarkable propensity for announcing their whereabouts," Taka said, frowning at the memories conjured.

Not liking how the subject had turned, Mufasa quickly changed subjects, noticing the worry starting to spread across Simba's face. "Will you and the clan be patrolling tonight then?"

"Oh yes. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."

"And it's a job widely respected and appreciated."

"Thanks."

The king nodded. "We should probably let you get back to your duties."

Glancing at her watch, Elisa agreed. "Yeah. I still gotta get over to France and Maui and I'm kinda running late."

"Then we should definitely let you go. We shall see you tonight, Elisa."

"Yep…see you tonight."

Getting back into her car, Elisa tried to shake the foreboding mood settling down on her. Thinking about the Exiles never did anyone any good, but as the front line of defense for Animasia, it was a subject that she routinely had to consider. Luckily, as she was pulling away, her radio started crackling again. "You there yet, Maza?"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just didn't feel like turning on the tape deck. Hey, did Simba mention if there was any trouble in school today?"

"No. Why?"

"Oh, Baloo and Rebecca were hollering up a storm at Mowgli when I came in. Kit just thought it was about some note that was caught, but it seemed a bit more serious than that."

"Bluestone, you know it's a sad day when our lives revolve around the gossip from a classroom."

Pause. "That's so terribly true it's not even funny."

"Where are you off to now?"

"Duckburg."

"Enjoy."

"What about you?"

"The castle, then off to the island and back over to the Eyrie."

"Just be careful around that little space punk."

"Stitch is harmless."

"He bit me."

"Matt, you stepped on his ear."

"He bit me."

Elisa sighed. "You want to meet at the hall around 6:30 and go over the patrol areas?"

"Sounds great. What time is sunset tonight?"

"About seven."

"And the meeting's at 7:30?"

"Yeah."

"Perfect. See you then, Maza."

"Bye Matt."

Sinking back into the seat of the car, Elisa drove in silence as the long amber grasses quickly grew shorter and verdant. Two more stops before heading back home…and what sounded like a very full night ahead.

* * *

There it was.

There it was again.

Again.

_No._

Sheltered in his ancient baobab, Rafiki heard the tumbling of the sky through the leaves, the voices that it carried, the souls it passed through.

Today, it was not a good sound.

The voices were muddled, deceit behind words of promise, sadnesses so permeating the old one gasped beneath their enormity.

But he couldn't hear those words, didn't know who suffered, how many, how few. Didn't know how to help those he had no sense of.

And so, grabbing a handful of leaves off his roof, crushing them in his cracked hands, and mixing their sap with the juice of a blood gourd, he began to divine the secrets hidden from him, scattering the mixture upon the floor of his tree, waiting for the signs to show themselves.

And almost hoping they wouldn't come.


	3. Town Hall Meeting

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. All I own are my words. I bow before the mega-conglomerate shadow of Disney.

Town Hall Meeting

The only sound Elisa heard as she entered the Hall was the soft, steady pace of shoe-falls near the podium. She wondered if Matt had decided to come early, but instinctively knew better- Matt never arrived on time. Her instinct was confirmed when a spat of agitated quacking echoed throughout the rotunda.

"Donald, calm down. You know we can't understand you when you're like this."

Another string of angry clucking, an irritated calm, then, in a perfectly clear and mellow baritone, "Why _now_, Mickey? Why don't we do this more slowly?"

"I think Donald's right, Mick," came another voice, slower, less refined, usually far more jovial. "This all seems kinda…sudden."

An aggravated sigh. "I know it seems that way, fellas. But it's not like we haven't talked about this ever in the last seventy years…oh, hiya, Detective."

She frowned inwardly as she walked down the aisle towards Mickey. She was starting to get clumsy- there was no way that he should have been able to hear her coming from so far away…unless those ears really were for something more than ornamental.

Mickey, Donald and Goofy all stood in front of the central podium, Donald's arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Mickey. Goofy seemed to be refereeing whatever conflict they seemed to be mired in. Elisa almost didn't notice Minnie sitting off to the side, watching the three, even her bow attentive to the proceedings. Briefly wondering if Minnie was the real glue that held Animasia together, Elisa held back her speculations and focused on her reason for being there.

"Hi, Mickey. Did you still want a perimeter check and a crowd control group tonight?"

The Mouse nodded. "That'd be swell, Elisa. Can you tell Goliath to stay inside tonight instead of taking the aerial watch?"

"Absolutely." She cocked her head, questioning. "Expecting some problems tonight?"

"Indubitably," Donald muttered, his comment lost in an irritated squawk.

"No, Detective," Mickey replied, losing his happy-go-lucky demeanor for a second as he flashed Donald a biting glare. "It would be nice to see Goliath in person for once rather than just his silhouette."

Not buying the glib answer for a second, Elisa nevertheless nodded. "I'll make sure he gets the message. Do you want anyone up in the air tonight?"

"Not tonight, Elisa."

She cocked her head, questioning. "You don't think there's any threat from the Exiles."

"No."

"I'd like to be prepared-"

"We'll be fine," came the succinct reply, and for the second time that night, Mickey briefly let his cheerful guard down. In that instant, she could see all of those seventy years of existence wearing on him, seeping downwards into that always genial smile, harrowing his warm eyes.

Elisa let the matter drop, at least in front of the Mouse. "We'll keep the windows open, just in case."

Mickey nodded.

"What windows?" Donald muttered sullenly.

"Stop it, Donald."

All three turned towards Minnie, silent up till that point. It constantly amazed Elisa how Minnie could immediately hold all attention in the room with a simple command. She was Mickey's total complement…just with more grace.

The bickering quieted down, Minnie turned her attention to Elisa. "The clan should be arriving soon, and the rest of the security patrol should be around. Do you think now would be a good time to set up a check point?"

Knowing a brush off when she heard one, Elisa simply nodded. "I'll come back when everything's set to go."

"Thanks, Detective," Mickey said as she turned to leave.

_Thanks, nothing_, her mind whispered as she trod back up the plush rotunda. _What are you hiding from us?_

Once back outside, waiting for the rest of the security crew to meet her, she focused her thoughts back to the present task. She weighted the size of the crowd against the number of patrols there ought to be, then worried about the instability of the crowd given the range of topics that could be broached.

As dusk settled into the still-chilly winds of mid-April, Elisa braced her back against the side of the Town Hall, waiting for the familiar wings to appear in the sky and always, always protect her.

* * *

The heart of Animasia remained an enigma even to those who dwelled there since its creation some 70-odd years ago. In a world imbued with magic, the Town Hall still radiated mystery. Its exterior was nothing remarkable: a stand-alone Colonial courthouse, stacked brick, white trim, flagpole in front with a minute-by-minute unfurling new flag. It was the interior that caused far more consternation.

No one knew what the interior looked like.

Perhaps more accurately, no one knew how it looked like it did, for everyone had a different vision of it.

Elisa recalled the time she had seen a photograph, and a well-hidden one, of the American Senate assembly, and realized how very similar the Town Hall appeared to that picture. Ever the traditionalist, Mickey paced down the aisle of benches which could easily have doubled for pews on a Sunday morning in 1774 in a small New England village.

No one saw the same room.

It was an unspoken rule not to ask others what they saw within the inconspicuous building; some speculated that it was like prying into someone's mind.

In a world whose foundations rested upon creativity, of the brilliance of the mind, privacy was usually held as sacrosanct, sometimes much for the worse.

* * *

Rippling arm wrapped around her waist, Gaston led Belle into the Hall. Belle sighed as she crushed orange blossom and fire lily petals below her feet; the arboretum had never before seemed so withered before her eyes. Even the warm radiance of the setting sun refused to liven the haggard flora. She quickened her pace, falling out of step with Gaston's more strident gait.

"Ah, _ma chere_!"

Suddenly swept into the kindly embrace of her friend, Belle returned the hug, smiling. "It's wonderful to see you, Lumiere."

The manservant beamed, his dashing, cavalier smile a welcome sight. "It has been far too long since we've had the pleasure of your company."

"I know."

Gaston coughed.

"Where is…everybody else?" she asked.

"They are on their way, _ma chere_. I simply took it upon myself to enjoy this little gathering and…" His voice trailed off, eyes meandering over to a very single, very eligible Nakoma. Smoothing the lace at his cuffs, he finished in a distracted voice "…mingle with society before the meeting."

Knowing his attention span was almost entirely gone, Belle quickly asked. "So everyone from the castle is coming?"

He paused, then in a slightly more somber tone, "Except the Master."

"Of course," she replied.

Gaston leaned over and offered his hand to the lanky attendant. "Good to see you again, Lumiere."

Lumiere shook it gamely and returned a curt, _"Monsieur."_ Turning back to Belle, he saluted, "I must bid you farewell for the moment, but I shall see you again later, perhaps?"

She smiled. "Later."

"Till that time, _ma chere._" He bowed, then hurried over to the far end of the room where the unsuspecting maiden was about to be swept off her feet.

"I don't think he likes me."

Belle sighed. "He just doesn't know you."

"He doesn't want to know me, Belle. And I don't think he wants you to know me, either."

"You're being paranoid."

"I'm trying to be protective. I don't know what I'd do if you were hurt again."

"Lumiere is not going to hurt me."

"Probably not. But with the company that he keeps-"

"Please. Stop." Realizing that her hands had clenched into fists, she consciously loosened them, indented crescents seeped in her flesh where her fingernails had been. "Let's just take our seats. Please."

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"I know."

Neither said anymore as they took their seats on a long cushioned bench, wrought-iron legs disappearing into the piles of unswept leaves. Turning around to look more closely at the tired flower beds, she realized what was troubling her more than anything that evening.

There were no more roses.

* * *

Couples, families, friends and neighbors slowly trickled into the Hall as the long evening drew itself into dusk. The empty auditorium filled with Animasia's dwellers, a bobbing mass of individuals greeting, laughing and talking to each other. Minnie wandered around, mingling from group to group, smiling and never giving the slightest hint as to what was about to take place.

Above heads, Genie floated around the room, cracking jokes, keeping the mood festive as Mickey had quietly instructed him to do. Spotting a worried-looking Webigail, he immediately zoomed down next to her and poofed himself into a little blue Pomeranian. Delighted, Webby giggled, and scratched the happily slobbering mutt until a wayward fire cracker exploded close by. As Webby jumped, the Genie-dog hollered cheerily, "Watch where you aim that thing, old man!"

In response, Merlin conjured up airy smoke figurines for Webby to chase and giggle at. Soon several of the younger Toons saw the wispy butterflies and prancing unicorns and quickly ran over to join in, Lilo leading the way.

Minnie meandered by the huddled cluster of fairy godmothers. Eavesdropping, she leaned in just in time to hear Merriweather exclaim, "My blueberry bundt cake can bake circles around your banana bread!"

"It's all in the wrist, dear," Flora said frostily, demonstrating as she did so. A large, steaming loaf of bread appeared in mid-air amid the fairies, and the scent of warm cinnamon drifted lazily over the foyer.

Once the Pride found their usual seats, Mufasa and Taka excused themselves. King Stephan, Shang and Mulan were already gathered together when the brothers approached. "Stephan!" Mufasa greeted warmly as Taka bowed his head in familiar salute to the warriors.

"Sit down, my friend, sit down," Stephan returned, smiling under his thick mustache. "What news do you bring?"

"The whisperings of danger, good king."

The small circle eyed each other warily.

"No one would ever fault you with discretion, Mufasa," Taka drawled.

Shang nodded, but his face remained grave. "We too have heard such tales riding on the wind."

"We'll be ready for them this time," Mulan said quietly, fingering the hilt of her sword.

Above all the noise, the happy cacophony resonated with apprehension. In all of the conversations, no one still knew why they were there, why this meeting had been called, why now?

In the shadows by the front, Mickey heard their fear, knew what such a sudden gathering could excite in them. He had half a mind to call the whole thing off, tell them it had been too long since everyone was in good spirits, and who wanted to host the Halloween party this year? Thanksgiving? Christmas?

But no. This was no longer a decision he could no longer carry by himself. _We have grown so much, too much for just me. You didn't plan on this, Old Man. You couldn't have._

…_had they outgrown him?_

At least Mickey could reassure them that there was absolutely nothing going on with the Exiles. That would be the first order of business.

The entrance door opened with the Wyvern clan striding into the foyer, Elisa leading the way beside Goliath. Out of the shadows the gargoyles emerged, their imposing, winged frames silhouetted against the evening closing behind them. Matt, Darkwing and Launchpad brought up the rear, trying their best to look capable beside the formidable group. With a single nod, the eleven gargoyles spread their wings and leapt into the air, circling the rafters and landing on small outcroppings against the wall. Finding Minnie in the crowd, Elisa nodded.

"Elisa gave the go-ahead."

Mickey turned towards Minnie, seeing the support, the only support he ever needed. "Thanks, Minnie. We're just waiting on a few more people."

"Who…?" Minnie began, searching the crowd and immediately getting her answer. "Oh."

Conversations stopped in mid-sentence as Snow White and Cinderella made their distinguished entrance. Both nonchalant to the spectacle they garnered to themselves, they swept into the Hall in a procession of dignified silk and tiaras, stirring forgotten discussions into awed whispers. Goddesses rather than matriarchs, the two princesses exuded a comforting mystique befitting two of Animasia's greatest recluses. Their shining perfection dulled all other warmth in the amphitheatre as they took their seats in the front row.

"I guess we can start now," Minnie sighed to Mickey.

"They got nothing on you, Min," he whispered as he took the podium, squeezing her shoulder on the way up.

She said nothing, only turning to take her own seat.

And watch.


	4. Debate

Disclaimer: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters.

This chapter is dedicated to all those who have worked for WDFA and have recently been fired by the idiots in management. Thank you for all the magic you have created…thank you for fighting the good fight that can't yet be won…

Debate

Mickey stood at the podium, tail twitching nervously.

"Hi, everybody," he greeted the crowd, beaming. A murmur of returned acknowledgment rippled through the vast assembly, anticipation over his next statement almost to the breaking point.

"I know what you're all thinking, and you can relax: this meeting doesn't have a thing to do with the Exiles."

The announcement caused immediate relief; some Toons breathed out sighs they'd been carrying since the afternoon, others dramatically slumped into their seats, taut tension quickly seeping out.

"Thanks to our crack policing team-" here, the Mouse gestured towards the vigilant clan, Darkwing and cohorts- "all the criminals are safely far away from us with neither a pip nor squeak heard from them since their banishment.

"But I wanted to bring up something…just as important, if not more so."

The quick moment of respite fell away, replaced by another round of curious, slightly anxious mutterings.

Mickey looked to Minnie before continuing. She smiled that pretty, reassuring smile of hers and nodded. They were in together. As they always were.

"Some of us have been here a very long time. Others have just joined us. But tonight, I am asking everyone here to consider the possibility of…extending our borders just a bit."

"To where?" Aladdin called out. Jasmine immediately smacked his arm, annoyed at his outburst.

Mickey paused, not so much for dramatic effect but to question himself one final time whether this was the best thing to do.

It wasn't.

But it wasn't up to him anymore.

"Into the human's world."

The collective gasp seemed to draw all the air out of the room for a brief second. For that stunned moment, all possibilities of Animasia's future stretched out before him, all disasters, heartbreaks, delights and happy endings. He saw the stories of their lives coalesce into that single instant, their vitality brilliant in this new hope of the future.

This is what they wanted.

How could he have been so wrong?

Snow White was the first to break the silence. A sudden choked sob echoed throughout the hall as she buried her reddening face into pale hands. "Finally…" she whimpered as Cinderella comforted her. "…finally…"

Off in the wings, Donald rolled his eyes.

Out of her weeping came the rolling of voices, feather-quiet whispers churning into jubilant cheers, dissonant mutterings and outright celebration. Joy radiated from the First Generation, muting progressively as the age of the Toons dwindled. While the Dwarves jigged, Aurora and Philip hugged, Robin Hood conferred with Marian, and Woody and Buzz puzzled about the scene before them.

Belle clasped Gaston's hand, seeking reassurance that this wasn't some cruel dream. She beamed at him as they stood and joined the voices raised in delight while the castle staff remained more sedately contemplative, eyeing each other in mute askance.

Elisa looked up in the rafters at the clan. Even from far away she could see Goliath scowling, tension ebbing through his chiseled frame, quivering his wings. The others, while not looking nearly as perturbed as their leader, hardly echoed the jubilant racket from below.

She staved off her own impulse to join in the racket.

Mufasa looked at the pride, saw their apprehension, and deepened his frown.

Mickey waited a while longer before calling people back to their seats. "So…heh…I guess that's somewhat of an affirmative…" he mildly joked, feeling a bit sick. "So the best thing for everyone to do now is to talk this over with their kingdoms and we'll all come back and discuss this in a week or-"

"_No!"_

Startled, Mickey and the rest of Animasia looked at Cinderella, out of her seat and half-mad with desperation. "No! We've waited so long for this, Mickey. Everyone here knows what they want, have known for years. We don't need to wait any longer. We're all here now. Let's decide _now._"

Mickey felt the combined stare of the assembly back on him. _Too late, too late, forever too late…_ A voice that was his own but without its energy, its character, asked, "Any objections to Ella's…suggestion…?"

The few voices who had the courage to challenge Cinderella were lost to the mass of wild support for the princess.

Mickey gripped the podium, steadying himself as the fresh round of cheers rolled through its momentum. He felt so shaky he wondered if everyone could see his ears quivering. In the matter of five minutes the entirety of Animasia had been lost to him. He looked over at Donald, glaring furiously at him, and Goofy, the hapless bewilderment he was best known for glazing his warm eyes.

What had he done?

"Okay," he murmured as the room quieted and waited for his next pronouncement. Knowing that there was no way he could safely get out of this mess, he bowed his head briefly, resigned to whatever fate may have in store. Looking up, he said in a louder voice, "Okay. Since it sounds like just about everyone's ready, we'll have the vote tonight. Donald will do the tally."

Mickey heard the beginnings of a livid squawk that was quickly stifled by one of the coldest stares Mickey had ever seen Goofy give. Together, both Donald and Goofy pulled down the tally board out of thin air, a rich, cherry wood frame that held dozens of carved silver names. On the top, a large "Yea," and "Nay" divided the board into two separate columns.

Calmer, Donald read the first name on the board: "The Black Forest."

Snow White stood, her flushed cheeks striking against the rest of her pale winter skin. "It's been sixty years since our creation," she announced softly. "It's a long time to be waiting for a world that's just beyond the Door. Many, many things can happen during that span of time. Many things happened that we don't know about, simply from our isolation. But we've been patient, as Walt wanted us to be patient." Behind her, the Dwarves nodded approval.

"Now the time has come for us to stop being patient. A time that we have waited for and have longed for since our beginning. Tonight is the new beginning, a new future for all of us. Our vote is yea!"

During the round of applause that followed, the "Black Forest" name slid over to the "Yea" position on the hovering board. Donald looked up, sighed, then called for "Florence."

Geppetto stood and gave a similar speech to Snow's, and Donald sighed once more as another name shifted to "Yea." "It's gonna be a long night if they don't shut up every stupid time they stand," he muttered to Goofy, who in turn gave a small laugh.

It _was_a long night. As each group received their turn to vote, some representative made an overly dramatic speech about how long they had waited for this opportunity, how wonderful it was to finally have this chance, this is the most exciting thing Animasia has ever seen. Donald thought Mickey was going to blow a gasket when Ella's super-flowery speech started with her "long years languishing in captivity." The Mouse's usually pencil-thin tail fuzzed out like a cat's as she continued her overwrought soliloquy of her "relentless exile."

It wasn't until Robin Hood stepped up with a questioning eye to everyone that the tone of the evening started to change. "I don't see what the big deal is, quite frankly," he said as the assembled group puzzled. "The human's world is just one more place to explore. We still have a lot of lands people haven't bothered visiting here, and I know for a fact that most of you have never seen Sherwood in the spring." He grinned, sly and confident. "If it's variety you want, there's still plenty to go around. However, we also have no…_inherent_problem with the notion of entering the human's world. We're not going to stand in your way against whatever it is you're looking for. Sherwood's vote is yea, but do think it over."

Mickey had long since retired from the podium, rather sitting on the steps in front of the dais. While Robin's words were of some comfort, it did little to cheer him as he looked at the long column of affirmative votes.

A knot was growing in Belle's stomach as the vote drew nearer. While she and Gaston may have been all for joining humanity, the decision wasn't nearly as clear cut between the servants. While Chip fell asleep on her lap, Lumiere, Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts whispered anxiously amongst themselves, with her father tossing in a comment every now and then.

As Basil mused on the necessity for joining humanity versus the want, Belle felt a tap on her shoulder. Lumiere slid between her and Maurice and half-asked, half-pleaded, "Don't tell them yes."

Expecting this request, Belle shook her head. "So none of you have any interest in seeing what's out there?"

"_Non."_

"You have no interest whatsoever in the millions of single women in America alone who fantasize about being romanced by a tall Frenchman?"

Lumiere's long face froze, and she could see him counting the possibilities. A few seats over, Cogsworth fumed. "Millions, you say?" Lumiere whispered hoarsely.

Belle smiled, sad, pensive. "You just want to protect him."

The manservant sighed, then returned the same smile. _"Oui, ma chere."_

"I know." She held Chip tighter as he slept on. "I know."

"South Lyons," Donald announced.

Handing Chip over to Lumiere, Belle stood, the knot filling her stomach and constricting her chest.

"Lyons abstains from this vote." She sat down, looking around the arboretum to dare anyone to question her choice. Anyone who she caught looking quickly turned their heads away.

"What the hell was that?" Gaston hissed once she was back down. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"Yes, but I'm not the only one who gets a say."

"For god sakes', Belle-"

"Not everyone thinks this is the best thing to do. I'm not simply going to say what I think is best and neglect others' concerns."

"Fine."

"South Lyons" slid to the midpoint between "Yea" and "Nay," the first vote of its kind in the history of Animasia. "Agrabah" then rectified the dominating column with a "yea" vote.

"The Pride Lands."

Mufasa looked at the faces of his pride, his brother, his wife, his son. Knowing both that they were all in agreement, and that their agreed stance would not go over well, he stood and asked, "Does it not bother anyone that, if we do indeed let ourselves be known to the public, we are doing the exact thing the Exiles tried?"

A sharp silence punctured the gathering, promptly followed by a round of protests and jeers.

"What?"

"Is he serious?"

"This isn't like that at all!"

"We're not like _them_!"

"This isn't a violent takeover, damn it."

"Fraidy cat."

Above the cacophony, the lion could see Mickey trying to call order, his tiny voice drowned out by the countless others. Their eyes met briefly.

Mickey knew Mufasa was right.

The tired resignation in the Mouse's eyes reflected the knowledge they both silently shared and feared. So why had this whole forsaken mess been brought up in the first place?

A brief lull in the commotion was enough for Mufasa to plough through. "There is a _reason_ we have been hidden for so long, why Walt never told anyone about us. The world out there won't know what to do with us. Is everyone here fully committed to dealing with a radically different, far more challenging existence?"

Cinderella jumped to her feet again, golden hair flouncing with frenzied energy. "What good is it to be immortal if we don't take those risks, Mufasa? If we don't get the chance to live like everyone else?"

Below the din, Mickey winced.

"We're not like everyone else, Ella," the lion rumbled quietly. "That's why we're here."

"We didn't ask to be here."

"I don't think anyone does."

Her voice took an uncharacteristically hard edge. "Not all of us are like you, being here only a few short years. You have no idea what it's been like. Most of us have waited decades for this very night and we'll be damned if you ruin this for us."

"That was beautifully melodramatic," Sarabi murmured to Mufasa as he sat down on his haunches, her smooth contralto lost below the applause raised for Cinderella.

"She obviously had the audience for it," he returned grimly. "I don't like this."

The assembled finally quieted, Donald apologetically and unnecessarily asked, "The vote for the Pride Lands?"

"The Pride Lands say nay," Mufasa rumbled against the rolling consternation of the crowd.

"With a unified voice," Sarabi added defiantly.

Taka nodded. "Implicitly."

One lone name appeared under the "Nay" side of the board.

"The Wyvern Clan," Donald announced.

Goliath swooped down from the rafters and carefully glided next to Elisa. He folded his wings over his chest, giving the appearance of an imposing monarch robed in dark lavender.

"Has anyone here yet considered the method of how we are to integrate into human society? Of the consequences of that action? It is one thing to want something and entirely another to pursue that goal."

Before the natives could grow too restless once more, Mickey took the stand. "This is just the first step, Goliath."

"I understand. But there is a blindness that has pervaded this room tonight. Excitement seems to have clouded the judgment of most individuals here. Integration is a worthy goal, but only later, when rationality can dominate the debate. Wyvern abstains."

The rest of the night went by fairly quickly. The remaining kingdoms of the Second Generation gave little preamble before their votes, most just wanting to get home. When Nani gave Hawaii's vote of "yea," the Town Hall exploded with cheering, laughter, and some striking fireworks Genie cooked up on the spot. Mickey didn't even try to raise his voice and just announced to anyone within earshot that he's present Animasia's proposal to Misner in the morning.

The celebrations lasted long into the night.

* * *

Mickey sat alone on the steps of the Town Hall, looking into the starless black sky for answers.

How could he have been so wrong?

"You weren't wrong, you know."

The Mouse barely glanced over as Minnie sat down beside him. She glanced up at the night, then down at Mickey and sighed. "He's not about to come back and start yelling at you."

"I know that."

"Then why are you looking for him?"

Rather than defend himself, Mickey remained staring fixedly at a murky cloud crossing overhead.

"You couldn't keep them hidden forever. Walt knew that. Just for as long as you could. And you did, Mickey. You really did."

When Mickey said nothing, Minnie stood and brushed the dirt off her hem. "I'm going home," she said, the leaned over to kiss his forehead. "I'll leave a light on."

A nod. And that same resigned, ashamed stare into the heavens.

He kept vigil for the long night ahead.

* * *

The door chimed, a quiet "Fur Elise" playing out of the speakers. Misner looked up, pleasantly surprised to find a visitor calling on him.

"Come in."

The door to Animasia slid open. He grinned broadly. "I was hoping I'd see you before I headed back to the Coast."

"And here I am." She held up a jade green bottle of champagne. "To celebrate."

"There's not some Toon holiday that I'm missing out on, is there?" He walked over to the bar in his office and produced two goblets.

"We just started this one."

"And it is?"

She took the glasses and poured the champagne delicately, barely letting any foam settle on the surface. "Independence Day. Cheers."

Misner took a sip, raised his eyebrows. "Freedom from tyranny?"

"From oppression."

"You're kidding."

"No."

Misner laughed. "That old blowhard finally let loose?"

"I wouldn't say that. He fought it kicking and screaming and lost. He'll be in to see you tomorrow, so act surprised."

"Of course I will, my dear."

Her eyes softened, taking him in. "You said we could travel to Lake Tahoe when this happened."

"And we will. But not tonight."

"Of course not."

"I have to wait for Mr. Mouse to apologize to me tomorrow."

"I wish I could see that."

"I'll tell you about it."

"Good." She leaned in towards him, sliding her body provocatively across his desk. "Your wife isn't expecting you home anytime soon, is she?"

"My wife's in California."

"Good," she breathed, loosening his Armani tie. "Happy Independence Day."

The celebrations lasted long into the night.


	5. Downtime

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters.

Disclaimer: "The Road Not Taken" is Robert Frost's poem, not mine. And a good poem it is. Machiavelli wrote _The Prince_, as I would never take credit for such a piece of literature.

Downtime

Staying up in revelry long into the night was not a good reason to be late.

Ignoring the rooster was not a good reason to be late.

Being tangled in a nightmare was a good reason to be late, but it certainly wasn't a reason she would ever give anyone.

_Warm fur, laced with the scent of mid-autumn and fine old leather…_

Belle raced down the steps of her house in the village, sending the chickens flying. She hurriedly tossed down a few cups of grains for them and, just as quickly, filled a bucket of oats for Phillipe. "You be good," she murmured, petting his forehead as he happily munched away.

Schoolbooks safe in the satchel around her shoulder, Belle ran down the dirt path, trying to pull her hair back into a ponytail as she did so. Each footfall loosened more hairs than bound them, so she stopped with an aggravated sigh and wrestled with her hair.

…_familiar hands that knew how good they felt against the small of her back, and a rumbling whisper, "thank you"…_

"'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler…'" she chanted, starting to run once more towards the schoolhouse.

…_soft down hands against bare skin, growing hotter, creeping upward to her shoulders, around her neck…_

"'…long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in undergrowth; Then took the other…'"

…_scaled, fiery hands around her throat, burning away at the air inside…_

"'…as just as fair…'"

…_and laughing._

"'…and having…the better…claim." Panting, face wet, she stopped running, schoolhouse in sight. There was no way she would let the children see her so upset, so she waited while her mind relaxed in simple algebraic equations before rounding to the front of the building.

Her _xy_ meanderings were cut short by a round of chanting, growing exponentially in volume. Calm enough to investigate, she jogged the rest of the way. Closer, she could hear syllables punching into the mess of shouts:

"_Fight!"_

"_Fight!"_

"_Fight!"_

"Oh no."

Rounding the corner, Belle saw each of her students clustered together, egging on whoever was in the middle of the scuffle. Dropping the book satchel, she ran into the mob, pushing away the kids who weren't bright enough to see their teacher coming.

Simba had almost pinned Pinocchio to the ground when the latter grabbed a fistful of tail and yanked. The cub yelped, growled, and lunged for his antagonizer's face when Belle scooped him up in mid-pounce. Struggling against her arms, Simba thrashed wildly as Andy and Cody rushed in to help Pinocchio to his feet. The schoolyard silenced immediately.

"What is wrong with you two?" Belle demanded as Simba's flailing subsided a bit. "Stop that before I let you down."

"He called me a fuzz-for-brains noodle head," Simba explained, still wriggling.

"Well, that was hardly nice of him, but-"

"And he called my Dad a traitor."

Dirt-smeared, leaves clinging to strands of black hair, Pinocchio sulked, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "Jiminy said I should tell the truth. So I did."

Simba lunged. Belle caught him under his chest, though the momentum cost her balance and both tumbled to the ground.

"Stop it!"

Nala, green eyes wide, head-butted and shoved her way through the sea of legs to the side of a still-struggling Simba. Whispering in his ear, the young prince narrowed his eyes, but stopped his resistance against Belle. Nala looked up at her teacher and said, "You can let him go. He won't be stupid anymore."

Cautiously, Belle let the cub down, tensing for a new round of fisticuffs. When that didn't come, she pushed herself off the ground and refrained as best she could from fuming. "Everyone inside. We're late for class."

Within two minutes, every student was in a seat, though Pinocchio found himself facing the back corner of the room and Simba the front by Belle.

The day's lesson plans were neatly arranged on Belle's desk: Earth Science first, followed by a round of division tables and a spelling game. After lunch, a good hour with Twain, and to finish the day, the geography of the Soviet Union.

None of it sounded remotely interesting.

Standing in front of her desk, Belle surveyed the class. "Today's going to be a little different," she announced, "so you can put away your books. And then can everyone put their desks into a giant circle?"

Scraping desks and whispering paper rustled throughout the room as an oblong-ish shape formed around the walls.

Belle sat on her desk, deciding it best to ignore the muddy paw prints covering her skirt. "So who was at the meeting last night?"

The entire class raised their hands.

"What did you think?"

No one lowered their hands.

"Alice."

Daintily, Alice straightened in her seat. "Isn't it exciting?" she exclaimed. "We're going to be a part of a whole other world!"

"What do you think is going to be exciting about that world?"

This time, the hands were slower to rise. "There'll be more kids to play with?" Andy ventured cautiously.

Belle smiled. "A lot more."

"There'll be more places to explore," Arthur called out from the back.

"More games!"

"New toys!"

"Less homework!"

"I wouldn't count on that," Belle said, and a few groans seeped into the otherwise exuberant noise.

Wendy raised her hand and said joyously, "We'll get to grow up!"

The entire class snapped their heads towards Wendy. She blushed, trying to stammer out an explanation: "Well, it's not like we couldn't before, or now, really…there just didn't seem to be much point."

John snickered loudly. "Wendy wants a boyfriend!" The rest of the class began laughing. Wendy tried her best not to look offended, bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

"All right, that's enough," Belle warned, and the laughter died. "John, that was uncalled for."

Gosalyn raised a wary hand. "What if we don't want to grow up?"

A little worried at the direction the discussion was headed, Belle assured her, "You don't have to. No one is going to force you to do anything once we're out there."

"How do you know?"

"Well…I don't know for sure," Belle admitted. "And I would be lying to all of you if I said that I did. But I can tell you that we are all very important. Anyone who can't see that much is blind."

Misner's office loomed in front of Mickey, damning him in silence. How he'd managed to get this far, he hadn't a clue; the stairs never seemed so steep, the corridor never so long. Had his shoes always been so heavy?

It wasn't too late to lie. Just turn around right now and tell everyone that Misner thought it was a horrible idea and that they were a problem best suited for the next CEO to deal with.

They would revolt like the Exiles did, but majority would rule this time. He couldn't go back empty-handed.

_Take care of them…_

"I'm sorry," the Mouse whispered, pushing the silent doorbell.

* * *

David Xanatos missed having a valet.

It was bad enough that Puck turned out to be more trickster than not and was banished with the other Exiles. It was far worse that Puck usually moonlighted as Owen, thus robbing Xanatos of his impeccable assistant. It had been so much _easier_ when Owen was around, and Xanatos could be left to his own devices without worrying about paperwork. Now, however, Xanatos found himself to be stuck doing the menial tasks that were best suited for subordinates.

Like driving.

As Xanatos navigated the streets of Duckburg, the gear shift groaned horribly over the many hills riddling the city. Why was it that sport cars invariably had to have stick shifts? Driving himself in a limo was presumptuous at best, so a simple, elegant BMW had lately become his preferred method of transportation…even if he had to struggle with the stupid stick shift.

He remembered reading somewhere that European men found their virility called into question if they couldn't drive a standard shift. Xanatos kept meaning to ask Belle about the Freudian implications of such a belief, but there never seemed to be an appropriate way to segue into such a topic.

Hell with it all. The cars should just learn how to drive themselves.

Something which Lexington had almost figured out.

Hence the trip to Duckburg.

Scrooge McDuck's mansion lay appropriately on the outskirts of the city. Like the proper manservant he was, Beaglesworth was waiting for Xanatos as he pulled the car up the curving driveway. Opening the car door, Beaglesworth greeted solemnly, "Good day, sir."

"Impeccable as ever, Beaglesworth," Xanatos said as he got out of the seat. "Catch the action last night?"

Raising an eyebrow, the manservant tilted his head farther back, his eternal disdain for anyone other than his employer even more exaggerated. "Indeed. Rabble-rousers and rapscallions, the lot of them." He slammed the car door a bit more forcefully than usual.

"Not fond of integration?"

"I was referring to the drunken revelers who insisted on camping out at the front gates after the meeting was over. It was quite dismaying how long it took for a patrol squad to get rid of them."

Knowing the barb was a cheap shot at the overtaxed clan, Xanatos let the comment go. A perfectly well-rounded argument would have been lost on the single-minded manservant.

"Mr. McDuck will meet you in his study," Beaglesworth announced upon entering the mansion and leading the guest towards the room Scrooge regularly conducted business meetings in. "Can I bring you anything while you wait, sir?"

"Vodka and tonic."

"At one o'clock in the afternoon?"

"Fine. Tea. Earl Grey, if you have it. Hot."

That same disdainful stare. "How else would one have it, sir?" With one last semi-sneer, Beaglesworth left Xanatos alone in the study.

"Self-righteous old mutt," Xanatos muttered, looking at the stack of books precariously piled on Scrooge's desk. Machiacollie's _The Prince_ balanced on top of it all, so, having nothing else better to do at the moment, Xanatos picked it up and began to read.

The sound of a wood cane rapping against the marble floor heralded the master of the mansion. Scrooge entered the study, grinned when he saw Xanatos. "Ah, David. Good to see you, lad."

"Hello, Scrooge. Looking robust as ever."

"Codswollop. Have a seat." As the two settled into their chairs, Scrooge noticed the book in Xanatos' hand. "Interesting reading?"

Xanatos nodded, then proceeded to read a passage: " 'A wise man ought always to follow the paths beaten by great men, and to imitate those who have been supreme, so that if his ability does not equal theirs, at least it will savour of it.' "

"Your point, David?"

"You and I are not followers, Scrooge. We are the great men who will be supreme."

A wry smile tugged at Scrooge's bill. "Humility doesn't suit you well, lad."

"Exactly." Xanatos paused long enough to lean back in his chair. "Duckburg voted 'yea' last night so I can only assume that you are in favor of integrating into human society. Tell me, what sort of business ventures do you have up your sleeve for this momentous occasion?"

Scrooge stared long and hard at Xanatos before saying, "To tell you the truth…I wanted to see what was out there before I invested time and money into an idea that wouldn't work."

"How would you finance a venture once you thought of it?"

"Have you gone daft, or did you miss that towering money bin on the way to the mansion?"

"What if Animasia's currency won't be accepted by human nations?"

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Who knows? But I have a strong suspicion that we're going to have to play by their rules at first."

Scrooge sank back into his own chair, thoroughly dismayed. "You could be wrong, David."

"I know," Xanatos agreed with a nod of consent. "But I also may not be, and I would like to be prepared for that."

"Something tells me you've already have a plan."

"I'm astounded at your powers of perception, Scrooge."

"Ach, don't patronize me, lad. Out with it."

"What is your opinion of the stock market?"

"A breeding ground for fools and simpletons."

"Perhaps. But as I said before, you and I are not fools. And if I were to tell you that with a small investment, we would be able to become American millionaires in the matter of two months, what would you say?"

"How small of an investment?"

Xanatos grinned. "I like your way of thinking, Scrooge. So, let me ask…what comes to mind when I say the word 'Yahoo'?"

* * *

Candlelight illuminated Tony's Ristorante with the romantic glow best suited for Italian dining. Ordinarily a quiet spot for dates and anniversaries- and one memorable proposal- it was a bit on the crowded side as groups of friends congregated and continued to celebrate the impending integration of two worlds.

"Maybe we should've gone to Harryhausen's," Elisa said to Belle as the last of the breadsticks on the table disappeared. Romantic lingerings were one thing; actively waiting for entrees was just annoying.

"You try to get Gaston to eat an uncooked eel," Belle said, smiling, reaching for her glass of merlot. "Then let's see how much you mind the wait."

"Pardon?" Gaston asked from the other side of Belle.

"You don't like raw fish?" Elisa asked with a bite of sarcasm.

The burly hunter cringed. "Of course not. Fire was invented for a reason."

Elisa started to retort that fire wasn't exactly an invention, but Belle shook her head. _Don't even try,_ she mouthed, laughing silently.

Studying his stein of beer, Gaston asked Goliath casually, "So how did Xanatos take your vote of abstention last night?"

The gargoyle shrugged. "We had already discussed the matter. He wasn't in agreement, but he respected the decision and the reasons for it."

"Do you want to join humanity?"

"Gaston-" Belle started with a warning pitch.

"It's a valid question, Belle," Goliath answered calmly. "He merely wants to know where I stand on the issue. So I will tell you: don't believe I neglected the concerns of the clan in my statement. I know Xanatos is itching to enter the world of capitalism, and Fox is just as eager to join him. There is nothing more that Lexington would like to do than immerse himself in the technological wonders of that world. And you, Elisa…" He paused, a grin just barely chiseled into the corners of his mouth, "…your wish to make a violent world less dangerous is one that I know well, far too well to ever discredit it." Focusing back to Gaston, he finished, "Do I oppose integration? No. I oppose small minds with loud voices when tremendous change is at stake."

"Well said."

The table of four turned to see Cinderella and Snow being seated at a booth across the aisle. "Fortunately, there was no one like that at the meeting last night," she said lightly.

"I don't think that comment was directed at you," Belle said quietly.

"Speak when spoken to, Little Beauty," Ella corrected. "Princesses ought to be gentle in their manners."

"You forgot yours."

"That's right, you're not a princess. You would have been, through marriage, of course, but that doesn't seem to have worked out for you."

Before her three companions could protest, Belle simply, quietly said, "No. It didn't."

Tony suddenly appeared with four plates of pasta, each swimming in comforting sauces, savory herbs and fragrant spices. "My deepest apologies, my dear friends. The kitchen is a bit, eh, running on full steam tonight, yes?"

"_Grazie, signor,"_Belle said as the dishes were placed in front of each diner, grateful for the intermission from the princesses.

"So that makes you trilingual now?" Elisa tried to joke when Tony left.

"Yes, because it is so hard to learn how to thank someone in their native language."

The mood somewhat lightened, the dinner party resumed discussion of light subject matter, though no one would ever accuse Goliath of idle chatter.

"…surprised the Pride isn't with them…" drifted from the other table.

"…den of traitors…"

"Ignore them," Belle murmured. "Small minds and loud voices, remember."

No one ordered coffee.

The last breaths of winter panted around the group upon leaving Tony's. Gaston pulled Belle close as she rested her head against his arm. Goliath and Elisa walked ahead, shadows ebbing and flowing below the lamplights.

"I don't like that woman," Goliath growled.

"Yeah, she's a bitch, but what can you do?" Elisa retorted. "It's hard to put her in her place after all the effort she put into restoration after the Exiles and Night of Dissension. She's too protected by the First Generation, and the Second Generation is too intimidated to cross her. Except Belle."

"And you?"

"If she ever had a beef with me, I'd take her on. She barely acknowledges us as it is."

"What's that?" Belle asked behind them.

Under the glow of a corner street light, a large poster attached to the pole declared:

MADATORY TOWN HALL MEETING

TOMORROW NIGHT

7:30

Every denizen of Animasia must attend

this meeting if you wish to

join human society.

"So it begins," Goliath rumbled, his voice carried in the hollows of the wind down the empty street.


	6. Quid Pro Quo

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But of, how I wish I did…

Disclaimer: Billy Joel is the mastermind behind "We Didn't Start the Fire," not I.

Quid Pro Quo

A shaft of light poured down on Nicholas Misner as he took the podium, casting a halo of gold around his frame. The dwellers of Animasia let out a collective gasp, their first look at a real, live human suddenly come to being.

"This is so humbling," Misner began, looking around at the assembled crowd. "To be surrounded by so many legends is just overwhelming. And I am just the first of many of my kind who will share this experience.

"My name is Nicholas Misner. I am the current President and CEO of the Walt Disney Company, the company that was founded on you and your world. Tonight, I want to share with you an outline of what you can expect to happen during the rest of this year.

"When Mickey came to me and told me that you were ready to integrate into human society, I was thrilled. I know how past presidents have not wanted to take on such a monumental task, but I want to assure you that your entry into humanity is my topmost priority.

"The day that humans finally get to meet their beloved characters and icons, when Toons and men are able to come face to face will be a glorious day in the history of this world. But first, we must prepare you for what lies outside these walls. You will need to know what it's like to enter the world at the dawn of the 21st century. And so, a team of instructors who are the best in their fields will come and teach you the ways of this world you will soon see. They will be sequestered from the rest of humanity in order that your secret is not leaked prematurely to prying ears.

"For you will be introduced to your new world on New Year's Day, the first day of the new millennium. You who have been the personifications of love and entertainment will then be the symbol of hope, of magic, and enchantment for this new era you will begin.

"Each Toon will be asked to bring his or her own gifts into the world, just as each kingdom will bring forth its collective gifts to share with all. Each and every Toon, each and every kingdom with have their turn to shine in the light of the world, some sooner, some later, all giving humanity a new spark of life the likes of which have never been seen.

"You are the future of our world. And you are the lifeblood of this company. Good night all, and I'll be seeing you real soon."

Thunderous applause echoed throughout the Hall, its reverberations echoing long into the dark hours of the night.

Ariel smiled tightly, feeling nervous and having no idea why. With a cup of chamomile clenched in her fingers, she sat in her favorite velvet chair, angled just so that the reflection of the setting sun on the sea did not jump into her eyes. The breeze that gently beckoned through the open window had the first real taste of spring, her favorite season. It was the most relaxed she should have been in a while, especially with all the excitement that had been raised recently. There was nothing that should be unnerving.

Save for the over-zealous smiles of Snow White, Cinderella and Aurora glowing at her from across the room.

It was a little creepy.

Ariel placed her cup on its saucer and folded her hands back into her lap. "So what exactly are you asking?"

Cinderella smiled wider, and all Ariel could think was that she looked rather like a nurse shark. "Mr. Misner made this all perfectly clear last night."

"I don't think Mickey was very happy with him."

"Mickey is not going to be happy for a very long time if he doesn't come to terms with all the wondrous changes that are afoot, the poor dear."

"Maybe Misner shouldn't have come to Animasia yet. Everything seems to be happening sort of fast."

"_Mister_ Misner," Cinderella corrected. "And everything is going to happen rather quickly. We have only eight-and-a-half months before the new millennium. We have a lot to learn in that time."

"I guess I just don't understand why?"

"It's quite simple, dear," Aurora said, her voice lilting with slight exasperation. "When the time comes, all the kingdoms will be shown together to all the humans. As time goes by, humans will most likely start to see less of the kingdoms and more individuals emerge from those kingdoms. For instance, Detective Maza is very well trained to handle crime and will probably become involved in human law enforcement. That doesn't mean that other members of the Clan would do so as well."

Something wasn't right; their line of thought seemed very flawed somehow, but she couldn't find the right question to address it. "And the duties of the Royal Entourage…"

"Simply to reassure the public that we are still the makers of dreams," Snow White finished happily. "Everyone who holds a royal title will simply be asked, every now and again, to celebrate the magic of our world."

Ariel nodded. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"When nothing happens for decades at a time, one's mind does tend to wander," Cinderella replied smoothly. "So you and Eric will join us when such events rise?"

Frowning, Ariel paused. "What about my father? My sisters? They're 'royalty' too."

"And we shall address them soon," Cinderella reassured. "Now we just need to know we can count on you."

The inviting wind laced the sea into its billows, salted spray misting through the window. Gulls cried in the distance, and the waves tumbled against the break wall. She would always remember how peaceful everything was in this one fleeting moment, a time she would always go back to as she heard herself say, "Yes."

In unison, the three princesses stood, their mission accomplished. "Thank you, Ariel. We shall be seeing you soon," Snow White said in farewell. Grimsby led the three out of the castle, leaving Ariel alone.

What had just happened?

Not much had happened at the Town Hall Meeting the previous night, save that most of Animasia got its first look at a real, live human in the form of Nicholas Misner. While the idea of meeting a human had seemed like a wondrous, exhilarating experience, the slightly balding, slightly aged CEO left a bit to be desired. He mostly talked about how wonderful it would be once integration began, how much humanity already adored the Toons (a rather funny term that Misner used frequently in reference to everyone in Animasia, though Mickey and Minnie seemed to cringe each time it was used), and how each kingdom and its individuals would be celebrated when their time came. It didn't entirely make sense at the time, and now that the three matriarchs had left, seemed to make even less.

Eric popped his head into the room. "Are they gone?"

Ariel smiled. "You can come out of hiding."

"So what did the old hags want?"

"Eric!" She tried to sound stern, giggled instead. "I'm still not entirely sure. But I think we might have to host more royal balls from now on."

The prince rolled his eyes. "Swell."

* * *

Winter finally seemed to let go of its stranglehold on spring as Belle walked to the school early, determined to arrive before any of her students. Admiring the pale dogwood blossoms lining the path, she prepared the next few days lessons in her mind, planning to write them down once she got to her desk. With all the meetings and whatnot, schoolwork inevitably was getting shoved to the back burner, stifling the children's learning. It was high time to focus on their education, especially now that her evenings would be centered around her own education.

Nicholas Misner had declared that, because of the Toons' isolation from the rest of the world (and what a silly word that was, really), a handful of humans would come into Animasia to instruct everyone on what it would be like entering the human's world at the dawn of a new millennium. To make the teaching more effective, only a few kingdoms would be taught each session, allowing for a greater instructor-to-pupil ratio. Each group would convene weekly, and darned if tonight wasn't Belle's first session.

Hence the need for greater planning.

Which would have occurred, save for the human standing in the back of the schoolhouse.

Belle stood in the doorway, shocked. Who was this person?

The human seemed equally uncertain of the situation. She looked almost thrilled, but not sure how to approach the teacher. "You're Belle?"

"Yes," Belle answered slowly. "Who are you?"

The woman crossed the room, heels snapping sharply against the floorboards. Smiling and extending her hand, she said, "I'm Melissa Dandridge. I…wow, I just didn't think I'd get a chance to meet you so soon."

Whereas Misner had just been someone who breezed in and out of Animasia in a whirlwind of promises, not seeming anymore real than he had previously, this Melissa person was really the first human Belle had any interaction with. Seeing one up close…talking to one…noticing how light refracted so imperfectly off her body, casting shadows that no one from Animasia had…it was a little odd. Belle could see it in Melissa's eyes, this person felt like she already knew her somehow, had already stated some familiarity when she asked only for confirmation of Belle's name. Belle took her hand, still cautious. "Why is that?"

"I just didn't think you'd come here anymore."

"Why wouldn't I? This is where I teach."

Melissa grimaced. "No one told you?"

"What?"

"Um, I'm the new school teacher."

All the words Belle tried to say, scream, holler died in little whispers on her lips. "Who told you you could teach my students?" finally came into her voice.

"Nicholas Misner. I have a memo he sent me. I was originally supposed to be on the adult ed. staff, but he felt my credentials would be better suited for a children's classroom. I can show you the printout if you'd like." Not waiting for an answer, she scurried back to Belle's desk where a gleaming leather briefcase lay. After pulling out a white sheet of paper, Melissa took it to Belle, who had trouble focusing on the words floating around the sheet. "He felt that they needed an updated education like their parents. And looking at the books around the room," Melissa gestured to the large bookcase by Belle's desk, "I think I have to agree with him."

"Why?

Looking truly apologetic, Melissa asked, "Belle, who won the Cold War?"

The news hit Belle unexpectedly. "It's over?"

"When did the Czech Republic and Slovakia form as separate nations?"

Belle shook her head, knowing the outcome of the questions.

"Who was the first man to step onto the moon?"

"I don't know…we made it to the moon?"

"That's why I have to teach them now. I'm sorry- you should have been told. But they have to be prepared, too. And if you don't know what to teach them, they won't know."

She knew the logic was sound; the textbooks she had only went up to 1955 publish dates, as did all of the other books in Animasia that she knew of. And she knew a lot of books.

"I'm sorry," Melissa repeated.

"Me too."

"Who's that?"

Both women turned. Penny and Cody stood on the front steps, staring at Melissa. Swallowing her pride, Belle beckoned them into the room. "This is your new teacher, Ms. Dandridge."

Penny looked up at Belle. "New teacher? What about you?"

"I'm going to make an announcement once everyone's here. Why don't you take your seats?" Too confused to say anything else, the two went to their desks. Soon, the daily rush of students filled the room, talking and laughter dying the moment they saw Melissa.

When the school bell rang, everyone waited for either teacher to say something. An unusual stillness crept through the schoolhouse; it was a silence so complete even the chairs refused to squeak.

Belle looked over her students, suddenly finding it very hard not to cry. She hated crying, had vowed to give it up two years ago and hadn't shed a tear since. Now would not be the time to start again. With an internal sigh, she started, "When we talked about us joining the human world, we discussed some of the changes that might happen. One of the things that has to happen for all of you to learn more and become better students is for a human to teach you. This is Ms. Dandridge, and she will be your new teacher from now on. Listen to her, be good to her, and enjoy your new lessons. I'll see all of you soon." Belle smiled reassuringly and walked out of the school, swallowing away the lump in her throat.

"Belle! _Belle!_"

She turned, watching Chip run down the stairs after her. He caught up with her and threw her arms around her legs. "Don't go."

The lump hardened. She sank down to her knees and grabbed him into a fierce hug. "Oh, Chip. I have to."

"But I'm not gonna see you anymore. You don't come to the castle anymore."

"I promise I'll see you. You're my favorite little guy, you know."

Chip sniffed, nodded.

"You'd better get back to class now." She lowered her head and whispered into his ear, "If she gives anyone trouble, you let me know."

He nodded, glad to be in on a secret. "Bye," he whispered, trudging back into the school.

Belle watched him vanish into the building, then began her own long, meandering journey away from the only real purpose she'd had anymore.

But she didn't go back to the cottage. There was too much there, too many books that mocked her lack of knowledge, knowledge that she thought she had.

No more.

The trees grew together, wilder, taller than those in the village. Oak and ash, birch and willow all billowing with spring leaves against the pale cirrus sky. Last year's leaves tumbled down the path, disintegrating into the wind.

And suddenly she found herself in front of the gates.

The iron hinges swung open for her even as she stood still, looking up at the turrets, the rail work…the West Wing…

She strode forward, a hesitant gait that echoed in a syncopated rhythm in the gaping moat surrounding the castle. As the gates had, so too did the castle doors open for her, quickly, thrilled that the mistress had returned. Taking a deep breath, she entered her once-home.

It was darker than she remembered. The sunshine seemed to stop at the windows, only gently illuminating the stained glass so their shadows fell quietly on the tiled floor, barely worth noticing. The grand hallway that in the haze of memory gleamed brightly in its vastness now seemed heavy, cavernous, and desperately empty. Lost echoes of laughter hid underneath carpets and behind paintings, afraid of the memories they might unleash.

"Belle?"

Startled that someone noticed her intrusion so quickly, she darted her gaze along the grand staircase, delighted when she saw her father at the top. "Papa!" she happily exclaimed, throwing away her caution and running up the stairs.

"I didn't expect to see you," Maurice said as she hugged him. "Don't you have school right now?"

Her momentary rush of happiness faded. "I did."

"What's all this past tense nonsense?"

"Well…there was a human at school when I arrived…" Belle proceeded to tell her father the story of the last half hour, complete with her own reflections, as he lead her down the staircase and into the kitchen where the savory aroma of bacon and fresh bread greeted them.

"Bless my soul!" Mrs. Potts exclaimed as the two entered, momentarily forgetting breakfast as she threw her arms around Belle. "It's so good to see you here, love."

Belle smiled. "You too."

Looking at the crackling bacon and eggs on the stove, Maurice inhaled deeply. "Smells wonderful, dear," he complimented, giving Mrs. Potts a kiss on her cheek.

She blushed. "Nothing to it, really. Just what Chip had before-why aren't you at school?" she exclaimed, looking back at Belle. "Where's Chip?"

"He's fine. He's at school. I…" Belle hesitated, not wanting to repeat the conversation with her father. "I got fired," she finished, slipping down into a chair by the kitchen table.

"What? You started that school!"

"Yes."

"Who fired you?"

"Misner, in a rather indirect fashion. There's a human woman teaching now. And she knows certain things much better than I can teach them."

Mrs. Potts glared darkly at Maurice, and uncharacteristic vehemence clouding her face. "That I'd like to see. Some stranger stealing away our girl's livelihood. Who knows better than you all that the children need in an education?"

"Maybe it's for the best," Belle said, trying to sound positive, both for her sake and the others. "I've always wanted to go to university. Maybe now I'll be able to devote a large amount of time into my own studies so I can be ready for next year's term."

"What studies?" a sleepy-eyed Lumiere asked as he stumbled into the kitchen, not comprehending the voice of the speaker. "Where's ze blasted coffee?"

Belle grinned. "Good morning, Lumiere."

Startled, Lumiere turned and instantly brightened when he saw Belle. _"Ma belle mademoiselle,"_ he greeted in the playful manner he used to address her. "What brings your lovely presence to us this fine spring morning?"

"A lack of employment."

As Lumiere spat out every vile word he knew and then started inventing his own, Mrs. Potts slid a breakfast tray over to Belle. "Thank you," she whispered, looking at the contents of the tray: sweet, milky tea, a handsome baguette, and a handful of jewel-red strawberries. It had been her favorite breakfast when she still lived in the castle, and, she realized taking a sip of the tea, still was.

In the comforting glow of the kitchen, as Mrs. Potts continued to serve breakfast, Lumiere plotted different schemes to wrestle control of the schoolhouse back, and her father sometimes agreeing, sometimes flirting with Mrs. Potts, Belle relaxed in the warmth of friendship that had almost been forgotten. For one brief second, she forgot why that had occurred, why this wasn't still part of her morning.

And then she heard his voice.

Oh, his rumbling, familiar voice.

"Lumiere, your words would make trolls blush," Beast said amiably, stepping into the kitchen. "Did you lose to Cogsworth in cards again, or-" He stopped in mid-sentence, frozen in place upon seeing Belle.

The entire room silenced, nervous, darting looks shared between the servants as Belle and Beast continued to look solely at each other.

The lump in her throat from earlier dissolved into a severe pounding, and she felt that if she opened her mouth out would pour thunder. The words she needed to say were drowned in the drumbeat, and all she could do was stare at him, look into his deep eyes and try to convince him to stay.

"I didn't know you were here," he hoarsely whispered, creeping back through the doorway. He lowered his eyes to the floor, ears sagging into his fur. "I'm sorry."

"Wait!" she finally cried, but too late; already he disappeared into the hallway, and she could hear his claws scraping against the marble as he bolted through the castle. She jumped out of the chair and raced to follow him, catching a glimpse of his hind paw as he careened around the corner. Once at the grand staircase, she lost all sight of him, but could still hear him thundering down the corridors. She began to run up the stairs, but her foot caught on a carpet fold he had torn and she grabbed the rail to steady herself, stopping her pursuit on the middle of the stairs.

"Belle?"

Maurice waited at the bottom of the stairs as Belle stiffly walked back down the stairs. "Come and finish your breakfast," he said gently. "And maybe we can sort out this school problem."

"Thank you, Papa," Belle said, her voice tight and distracted, "but I'm not very hungry anymore. I should get back to the cottage. But I'll see you tonight?"

He nodded. "We'll be there."

"Good-bye, Papa."

Clouds rolled in on her way back home, a light drizzle falling before she withdrew to the cottage.

* * *

The lanterns in front of the Town Hall burned steadily as Belle and Gaston passed underneath. A heavy silence had settled upon the two, Gaston at a loss for conciliatory words for Belle, and Belle not really wishing to speak about the day at all. A night spent listening to a neutral speaker seemed to be the best remedy to the current lack of communication.

Belle had not paid much attention to see which other kingdoms she would be learning with; at the time, it seemed much more important just to find out when the sessions would be meeting. She was extremely glad to see Elisa, Xanatos and Fox sitting under a still-bare cherry tree. Arms crossed, Elisa stared pointedly at someone in the center of the arboretum, nodding at something Fox was saying. Belle looked past several large stacks of silver-covered books to see another human woman counting out sheets of paper and stacking them into different piles on a bench. She looked a bit older than Melissa, which, for some reason, disposed Belle to liking this person more.

Sitting on the bench next to the three, Belle asked Elisa innocently, "Problem?"

Elisa shrugged. "Don't know. If we keep meeting at this time, the clan's not going to be able to come for most of the spring and summer. Sun sets too late."

"Did you tell her?"

"Yeah. And she looked apologetic, and told me she would see what she could do, but she doesn't schedule these things." She paused, realization kicking in. "Simba told me that you're not teaching anymore…?"

Belle shook her head. "Later."

The castle servants entered soon thereafter, with the gargoyles close behind. Taking a seat behind Belle and Gaston, Lumiere gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and friendly smile. Before long, the Hall filled with the designated kingdoms for the night. Upon seeing the human, the crowd almost immediately settled down, waiting for the lessons to begin.

The woman surveyed the room, and Belle could see she was taking a head count. She frowned, just slightly, in the corners of her mouth. "Well, I'd like to begin, but there are a few people still missing. So I'll start with an introduction. My name is Elaine O'Riley. It is an honor to be here and I promise I will see to it that you are given the best education possible. If at any point you have question about the material, you can come see me at…"

Her voice trailed as two stragglers appeared in the doorway, giggling. Cinderella and Aurora entered, oblivious to the interruption they caused. Elaine immediately walked over to the two and began speaking to them quietly. Cinderella looked offended, and retorted something of her own.

"There is absolutely nothing 'fashionable' about arriving late to my class," Elaine said loudly enough for the assembled to hear. "Now take your seats. And I will look for a prompt arrival from the two of you from now on."

Elisa looked over at Belle, rolling her eyes. Belle grinned.

Waiting until the two sat down, Elaine began again, "So if you have any questions, please feel free to come to me. I'm here to make your transition as smooth as possible. Now, the best foundation for your upcoming transition is a firm knowledge of the world you will soon enter. Therefore, the first part of this class will be devoted to both the history and current events of the human world. Everyone will receive a copy of _The American Century_ for reference." She gestured to the piles on the bench next to the papers. "You will receive them on your way out this evening.

"I've been told that most of you are not very familiar with the events that have taken place over the last fifty years of earth's history. Have I been told correctly?" After a general bobbing of heads, Elaine continued, "Tonight I'd like to give you a little crash course in recent history. These papers that I'm handing out are the lyrics to a song I'm going to play for you, and will be your homework to turn in next week. Everyone will be asked to research one or two of the names and places on the sheet and present them here when we next meet."

The shuffling of papers around the room was achingly familiar to Belle as she studied the words on her sheet. Her stomach plunged. Nothing looked remotely familiar, and Melissa's questions from earlier seemed even more foreign than before.

Elaine walked over to a black box and pushed several buttons. "This song is by Billy Joel, a very popular musician," she announced as music began to creep out of the box. A percussion beat and several faintly metallic notes repeated themselves until the words began:

"_Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray  
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio…_

"…_We didn't start the fire  
It was always burning  
Since the world's been turning…"_

_What fire?_ Belle frantically scribbled in the margins. _The sun? Is fire a metaphor for humanity? For their actions? Actions speak louder than words…speak when spoken to…_

"…_Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team  
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland…"_

Belle circled "Disneyland" on her sheet, wondering if anyone would be asked to research the park.

"…_Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British politician sex  
JFK, blown away, what else do I have to say…"_

Elaine stiffened at this stanza. Belle watched as her eyes momentarily glazed over, seeming to remember something that the verse sparked. _Ask about JFK…_

"_We didn't start the fire  
But when we are gone  
Will it still burn on, and on, and on, and on…"_

The question posed, silence echoed throughout the hall as Elaine stopped the CD. "So…what did you think?" she asked cheerfully.

"That's music?" Aurora asked incredulously. "That's what passes as music in this society?"

Elaine looked at the copyright date. "Actually, the song's a good ten years old. Music tastes have shifted a bit."

"Hopefully for the better," she sniffed.

"Define better."

The princess was taken aback and was now slightly discomforted by the stares turning towards her. "Well…when the melody is stronger, the words more lyrical, the singer more talented, and the score more integrated."

"So that's your opinion of 'better.'"

"Yes-but-yes. Isn't that everyone's opinion?"

"Hardly."

"Well, that's just silly then."

"And that is precisely why you need to be here when we ask you to be."

"Why?"

"Because she's teaching us about a world that you obviously know little about," Belle cut in before Elaine spoke, still writing notes on the margin of the lyric sheet. In a more reserved tone, she added quietly, "It's a world we all know little about."

"Pray tell us, Little Beauty," Cinderella chimed in with icy authority, "why you are speaking when you have not been spoken to?"

Rolling her eyes, Belle returned, "Because your models of thought are hideously outdated and need to be challenged."

"And you plan to change us one man at a time? 'Teaching' someone new and expanding his horizons? Little Beauty, your ways are the oldest in the world."

Elaine said something at Cinderella; Belle could barely hear beyond the furious ringing in her ears, couldn't see beyond the fire coursing through her face. She felt Gaston's concerned, confused gaze on her shifting to one of spite aimed at Cinderella. There was a growing loudness crawling around her, a mess of words and gruntings until she heard Lumiere holler, _"En garde_, you miserable snake of womanhood. If you knew what has transpired-"

"_No!"_ Belle sprung up, grabbed the manservant's clenched fists. "Lumiere, no."

"But she has-"

"Let it go, Lumiere. Please. For him."

The hatred in his eyes did not ebb, but his stance eased, and he lowered his arms. _"Oui, mon cher."_

"You. Three. Out. Now."

Belle turned towards the front of the hall. Elaine glowered, her own anger surprisingly similar to Lumiere's. "Whatever disagreements you may have with each other end the second you step inside this room. You are here to learn and I refuse to have that second to catfights and squabbling. Out."

"How dare you-" Cinderella began.

"Ella, if you haven't left your seat in the next ten seconds, I will personally hand deliver my assessment to Nicholas Misner that there is no possible way for Animasia to integrate into human society."

Cinderella stood. Belle waited till she had left, quietly gathered her books, took her copy of _The American Century_ that was assigned to her, and left with Lumiere walking beside her, hall silent as her mind numb.

* * *

Gaston came by to check on her after class let out. Belle reassured him she was fine, she had barely even thought of the incident since she was so totally engrossed in her research. It was only a part lie: she really was fascinated by her work, lapping up as much information on the Rosenberg trial and the Korean conflict as she could process. And it provided an excellent distraction to the situation previous.

When the door knocked again, she expected Lumiere to be on the other side, come to talk to her. Belle was happily surprised when she found Elisa leaning on the doorframe, hands in her coat pockets. "I forgot how cold it gets around here in the evening," she explained as Belle led her into the cottage, offering her guest a seat near the recently stoked fire.

"I haven't noticed."

Elisa nodded, accepting the cup of tea Belle procured from the kitchen. "How's Gaston?"

"He's fine." Belle brought her books out from the study to the sitting room, curled up into her favorite reading chair, lost her gaze in the fire. "I think we should trade our assignments. He might be more interested in military history than what he received."

"What's that?"

"It was something about beetles. It sounds like England had some sort of plague of insects during the 1960s."

Elisa contorted her face, nose wrinkling. "Ew."

"Yeah. He's not happy at all. Kept muttering how it would have been a much better assignment for Flik and Atta." She sighed. "He's such a philistine."

"But a good philistine."

Belle nodded into the fire, not caring to vocalize an answer. Catching her own distance, she turned to Elisa and asked, "How's Goliath?"

"He's fine. I think he's happiest when he's just gotten off a patrol and he can get delusions that he maintained the peace another night longer."

"That's not when he's happiest."

"What?"

"Haven't you ever seen the way he looks at you?"

Not expecting that answer, Elisa said nothing.

"I was there the night you two pledged to each other. Don't ever think that anything else gives him so much joy."

The fire crackled in the pursued silence.

"She said that in front of my father," Belle whispered.

Elisa sat upright, grateful that she wouldn't have to instigate a discussion on the recent past. "She had absolutely no right, Belle."

She shook her head. "People have wrought about enough conclusions about my life that I really don't care anymore. But…she called me a whore in front of my father."

"And you know what? Maurice looked ready to deck her, but Lumiere beat him to it. Your father…" Elisa trailed off, suddenly unsure about the rest of her statement. "Belle, he knows what happened, right?"

A small nod. Her gaze fell onto the open flames, but it was obvious she was seeing something entirely different, something dredged up from the past. "I miss him."

Elisa bit her lip, looked out the star-stained window towards the castle. "I know."

Her simple statement jolted Belle as she turned to her friend in horror. "Am I that obvious?"

"No." Elisa offered a wry grin. "Just to me."

Belle slumped. "I'm not being fair, am I? To Gaston?"

"Do you love him?"

"I could…I suppose. One day."

"Do you want to?"

A moment passed. "So what decade are you researching?"

The matter dropped, Elisa slouched down into the cushions. "The late Sixties. I skimmed through some pages while we were still in the lecture and it sure doesn't seem like a barrel of laughs."

"Most things don't seem very funny anymore. Even if they should be."

"Belle-"

"It had started out so well…"

"What did?"

"That horrible, wretched day…it was our anniversary…"

"Which one?"

"When we first discovered Shakespeare…"


	7. The Night of Dissension

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…

Disclaimer: Who wouldst that I abscond thoroughly with the immortal words of the Bard, the most distinguished and supercilious Shakespeare? Not I, quoth she, not I…

The Night of Dissension

_There was a white rose on her nightstand, its stem held by a thick book of sonnets. Belle smiled as she woke up, the intoxicating perfume of the flower drifting through her bedchamber. The curtains were only partially drawn; she could see the valley below the castle rolling in autumnal reds and golds. Picking up the book, she marveled first at the pristine, moon-white rose, hints of silver sparkling through the veins of the petals. It had been plucked just before full bloom, when there was still a sensuous curve beneath the bursting petals._

_The pages opened to where the rose stayed as a bookmark. Delighted, Belle read the passage, shivering with joy both at the message and melody of the words:_

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;  
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:  
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,  
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

_She threw her robe on over her nightgown and tried not to run down the hallway to the dining room. Silver-snow roses laced with the words of the Bard were not an idle gift._

_He wasn't in the dining room when she arrived. However, scattered around the room lay several massive bouquets of white roses, each fairly exploding with blooms, all glowing in their brilliance. On the dining table stood the largest arrangement and in the center of the artwork bore one velvet red rose, striking against the background of white. A small piece of vellum hung underneath the red flower, and she could see black ink written across it:_

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

That thereby beauty's rose might never die…

Tonight, a single rose waits for you in the library.

My friend, please join me tonight.

_Her heart picked up speed, rereading the lines. This was slightly excessive, even for Beast. Roses were not an uncommon gift to her. But these white roses, hybrids fused with magic, were the prize of his rose garden. He'd hinted slyly every now and then that the only time he would ever cut them would be for a very special occasion…_

…_very special…_

…_oh, my…_

"_Good morning."_

_Belle turned, beamed when she saw Beast. He grinned, looking down at her. "I was strongly advised against this."_

"_Why? They're beautiful."_

"_Apparently, I'm becoming too predictable."_

"_Really."_

"_Yes." A mischievous glint crossed into his summer blue eyes, lightning before a playful downpour. "I've been told I need to find a different way to sweep you off your feet from now on."_

_Her eyes widened, watching his arms reach out for her. "Don't you dare-" she began, suddenly caught in his embrace. He lifted her effortlessly, spinning her gracefully around the room as her laughter danced on the rose petals. Setting her down, Belle held fast to his shirt, burying her face in the velvety sage fabric as well as a few strands of fur. His warm fur, laced with the scent of mid-autumn and fine old leather brushed against her cheek. "You're very good at that," she whispered._

"_Sweeping you off your feet?"_

"_Mm-hmm."_

_He continued to hold her as well, gently stroking her slightly bed-tumbled hair. "Will you be able to meet me at eight o' clock this evening?"_

_Looking up into his face, she replied, "Absolutely. And right now, I'd better get ready to go, or I'll be late for class." She let go of him hesitantly, regretfully, wishing that she could cancel school on the spot and spend the rest of the day wrapped both in verse and his arms._

_The children would undoubtedly be grateful._

_Beast nodded, leaned down to kiss her forehead. "I will see you tonight."_

_Belle smiled. "Tonight."_

* * *

_Contrary to unanimous belief, not every single member of the Exiles was out for destruction, revenge, emancipation and all that other nonsense. Revenge is such a melodramatic state of mind anyway; there's no fun in it. And willful destruction is just so mundane. There's no thought, no finesse required for blasting buildings to smithereens. That night was supposed to cause just a little stir in the otherwise pedantically_boring _routine Animasia lumbered itself through every day. Just a little harmless fun._

_Or so it had been presented._

_Owen Burnett left the Eyrie Building ten minutes after five, a habit he had formed the last several months so as not to look terribly conspicuous. Workaholic, ever on the beck and call Owen would have looked highly suspicious simply asking for an evening off. Owen didn't do that sort of thing. Owen developed routines, exercised thorough judgment and acted in the most efficient manner possible._

_Puck did not._

_And Puck was a whole helluva lot more fun than Owen._

_However, Puck knew that the Owen side of him balanced out his true nature. Even here in Animasia, where rabbits and bears had tea parties together and monsters spoke freely with mice, Puck the Trickster was a bit much even for the rather laissez-faire contingent of Animasia. He knew it was far more convenient for the majority of people that he donned the persona of Owen on a daily basis rather than deal with the audacious and brilliantly manic Puck._

_And for that, he would have some jolly fun tonight._

_The cement sidewalk began to crumble, dissolving into smooth pebbles then grains of sand. The ever-reaching spires of the New York skyscrapers blew away into the desert wind as the city wall surrounding Agrabah rose up ahead, the peaks of the palace poking up over the fortified wall. Owen grinned. His smile remained as the rest of his body changed, shrinking, narrowing, until the fey emerged out of the austere cocoon, lithe and free-floating over the sands. Hovering in mid-air just a moment longer, with a gleeful smirk he snapped his fingers and disappeared._

* * *

_Late afternoon sun spilled onto the mottled floorboards of the tavern as the wooden doors swung open. Looking up, Gaston grinned as Belle entered, setting down the stein he was cleaning. "Hello, Belle."_

"Bonjour_, Gaston," she returned, approaching the bar. She slid her book satchel onto the barstool and leaned against the rail. "Is our order ready?"_

_He nodded, headed towards the back. "How did Lumiere like that vintage?" he called from the stockroom._

"_He seemed to like it, but I don't think he's terribly fond of Italian wines. Too robust." She hopped up onto a stool while she waited for him to return, her feet dangling freely above the floor. Content in the moment's relative peace, away from the buzzing and bustle of the schoolroom, she let herself dwell on the evening before her, and all the possibilities that may unveil themselves._

_Gaston returned carrying a bag full of bottles, clinking dully against each other. He looked down at Belle and mistook her content for tiredness. "Long day?"_

"_Hmm? Oh, no. Just thinking."_

"_That's a dangerous pastime, you know."_

_She shook her head. "You are a philistine."_

"_But a charming philistine."_

"_Yes, you are a charming philistine." She smiled. "And a good person. Am I all set to go?"_

_He nodded. "I put in a cabernet to make up for that Chianti, along with the sauvignon. Though why no one over at that castle of yours will touch a good ale when that's really all you need-"_

"_Probably because you're just trying to get rid of last season's brew." Smiling, she slung her book sack over her shoulder and gathered the bag into her arms. "Thank you, Gaston. Have a good evening."_

"_You too." He watched her leave, watched the doors long after they stopped swinging on their well-oiled hinges. "You too…"_

* * *

"_You are late."_

_The gloom of the palace dungeon settled heavily in the air, barring any lingering light from stealing through the prison grates. In the darkness, it took a moment for Puck to find the originator of the admonishment._

_Jafar glowered, his sunken face highlighted by the blue fire underneath a gently roiling cauldron. Beside him, Maleficent hovered at the blackened brim, arm extended over seething vat, eyes closed and lips silently chanting. Hidden away in the blackness of the twilight dungeon, Puck could just barely see the Queen, her raven hair obscuring most of her severe face._

_As he looked the scene over, Puck rubbed his hands together, delighted. "Oh, how wonderfully cliché. And will we be rhyming tonight, or is the incantation free verse?"_

_Jafar barely glanced at him. "Rhyme, if you must know."_

"_Oh, goody."_

"_Must you speak?" Jafar sneered._

_Puck grinned at the sorcerer. "Can you say anything beyond monosyllables?"_

"_Insolent little imp."_

"_So you can!"_

"_Must he be here?" Jafar whined to Maleficent, bony fingers clutched tightly around his staff in agitation._

_She continued her silent incantation. As the viscous potion turned from pale graphite to a chameleon green, she opened her eyes to slits and looked at Jafar. "Of course he must. We all must. You know this."_

_Jafar huffed away, sulking. Coast relatively clear, Puck floated over to the cauldron, peering in. "Special effects?"_

"_The spell is only a summon," Maleficent explained coolly. "We still need the medium to send out, hence the potion. Which you would have known had you been in attendance earlier this month."_

"_Not my fault Xanatos wanted me to crunch numbers at the last minute. Owen would never skip out on his boss, and he would have suspected something was up the minute I'd left."_

_A clap of thunder heralded the last arrival. Zeus stepped off a cloud and onto the dungeon floor, looking around at his fellow cohorts. "Have I missed anything?"_

"_Party's just getting started, old boy," Puck announced gleefully._

"_Damn," Zeus rumbled, crossing the floor and plopping down next to the Queen, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wanted to miss out on your mumbo-jumbo junk." The Queen tilted her head towards the god, then slowly gathered her loose sleeves into her lap away from the pouting Zeus._

_Puck raised an eyebrow. "Sour puss. Don't you have to be part of the incantation to be here?"_

"_Zeus is pulling his own weight," Maleficent said, chiding the fey in the dark undercurrent of her voice. "And now that the sun has set and we are all here, we may as well begin." She plucked the air for a piece of parchment, ink glistening as she handed the paper to Puck. "Your…cheat sheet."_

"_Thanks."_

_The conjurers ambled around the cauldron's brim, the potion seething furiously, sensing the change about to begin. In a slow chant, the four began speaking:_

Benign may be the world's desire

though the souls of all may hide true fire

Bring forth the veiled, reveal the hidden

remember the struggles that came unbidden

Inflame the senses, distort the truth

reopen the wounds of past uncouth

Listen well, hear our intent

Sow the seeds of discontent

_Zeus hurled a lightning bolt at the blue fire. The cauldron exploded, its contents mushrooming out into the air above, churning, heaving black smoke. The cloud immediately began to dissipate, little tendrils of soot purposefully eking along the ceiling and scattering into the night upon touching the outside air. A brilliant ember-red shade crept out of the thick smoke, hissing above the maelstrom. Upon touching the night air, it shot out towards the north, leaving a venomous trail in its wake._

_The five dissidents looked at each other. "So…is this the point where we all throw our heads back and laugh maniacally?" Puck asked._

_Zeus shrugged. "Couldn't hurt, I suppose."_

"_No," the Queen murmured, speaking for the first time outside of the incantation. "Now we wait."_

* * *

_They didn't have to wait long._

_The spell crept outwards, infecting the entirety of Animasia, stealing into the minds of all inhabitants and whispering about past hurts, arguments, conflicts._

_While at dinner, Aladdin jokingly mentioned Jasmine's hours-long hair treatment every morning and wound up with a bowl full of hummus splattered on his head._

_There was a sudden tussle right before bedtime as all seven dwarves decided that it was he who had discovered and unearthed the Devil's Eye diamond. Much beard pulling and hat grabbing ensued._

_Merlin and Mim had just called truce over whose homemade fireworks dazzled the most when Archimedes reminded them of the Summer of '76. A fresh round of wand-zapping created some brilliant light explosions that would have put the aurora borealis to shame._

_Deciding that Tigger had bounced through his carrot patch for the very last time, Rabbit stormed over to Tigger's home, threw open the door and hollered, "Old Long Ears has had ENOUGH!" He then proceeded, with the aid of a trusty rake, to thoroughly stomp on any knickknack that may have been lying on the floor._

_Stitch and Lilo, spending the night at the McDuck mansion with a bunch of the other kids, rigged up the classic bucket-full-of-water-perched-over-the-doorway gag, nailing Gosalyn as she entered a guest bedroom. Sopping wet, Gosalyn targeted Louie, thinking he the culprit. Suddenly pelted with stink bombs and water balloons full of stale Jell-o, the triplets started chasing her around the mansion with squirt guns and sling shots with eggs as pellets, turning the pristine rooms into a splattered house nightmare._

_Even the venerable Mickey Mouse, once thought a prankster in his own right, got wrangled into a tizzy of a fight with Donald, who out of the blue decided to rehash the long standing and oft-buried argument of who was Walt's favorite._

_All this Puck the Trickster reveled in. It was just the right amount of discord so as to be truly hilarious, from a distance, of course, and not terribly disconcerting for all participants. The night would wear on, sleep would be uneasy, and apologies, with some lingering resentment, would be made in the morning._

_All just a little bit of fun._

_Puck did not know that the malevolence of the spell had been saturated into one venomous wisp, did not know that it would actively seek out one of the few beings who could cause more than just a little emotional haranguing and inflict some truly vicious acts upon fellow persons, did not know that he would be just a prelude to much more terrible things to come._

_And Beast would truly live up to his name._

* * *

_Belle looked at her reflection in the mirror, frowning._

_The dress was perfect. Hideously more grand than she would ever pick out herself, but still perfect: yards of soft blue satin swirling around her, trimmed with ivory pearls on the bodice and teardrop sapphires on the hem. It was hanging in front of her wardrobe when she arrived home late in the afternoon, and assumed its use was intended for the evening. Hanging beside the dress in a little sachet was a pearl and sapphire hairpiece now holding her tresses in a loose French twist. Whoever had chosen her evening's wardrobe-she suspected Lumiere- had very good taste._

_So it wasn't the outfit that was troubling her._

_Nor was it the leather bound, annotated copy of "Macbeth" sitting on her writing desk, begging to be opened and savored. She couldn't wait to meet up with Macbeth and dig through all the passages the Bard got "wrong," then brilliantly defend those same passages in their literary context._

_Rather, it was an odd sense of foreboding that rattled her. And there was absolutely nothing to show for it- no thunderheads gathering on the horizon, no ravens cawing maniacally, no omens popping up in still water…not that she believed in any of that nonsense. Still, that she felt unsettled for no apparent reason on what had been a very good day and promised to be a fantastic night didn't seem right at all._

_But, as she looked over at the timepiece on her nightstand, she didn't have much time to debate the issue. Eight o' clock would chime soon, and she wanted to arrive just a little bit early. Early is on time, on time is late. What an odd little mantra._

_Gathering up her skirts, Belle left her room and walked into the corridor, her right hand holding Beast's present. It wasn't nearly as grandiose as her surprise roses, but she was certain he would enjoy it._

_The library was dark when she entered. Not night-dark, with the moon gently tinting everything in pale silver so that she could see the wisps of furniture, but pitch-black, curtains drawn, oblivion-dark. Surprised, she hesitantly stepped forward, knowing an oil lamp sat five paces to her right if she needed it. "Hello?" she called out._

_She heard him. She heard his breath, shuddering, ragged, guttural, reverberating on every surface so she couldn't locate where he was standing. "Beast?" she asked, worried now. "Are you all right?"_

_the roar shattered the night_

_and the sudden fire against her cheek_

_the weightlessness of her body_

_the wind hissing against her skin_

_she couldn't comprehend_

_Her neck collided with the wall. In the breath before the true darkness fell, she caught a glimmer of his eyes from the hallway light._

_The blue had faded to steel._

_They weren't his eyes._

_they weren't his eyes they weren't his eyes they weren't his eyes_

_And then they were gone._

* * *

"_-is all paraffin and poppycock."_

_Lumiere slammed down the silverware in his hand onto the tea caddy, fuming. He glared at Cogsworth. "I told you,_mon ami_, I did not take kindly to insults."_

"_Have at you then!" Cogsworth shouted, picking up a spoon Lumiere had just tossed away and brandishing it in his face._

_Rolling his eyes, Lumiere slapped away the utensil, sending it clanging onto the bricks of the kitchen. Mrs. Potts watched it skid to a halt at her heel, then kicked it back at them. "All right, you two. Out of the kitchen."_

"_But he-"_

"_I don't care which one of you bloomin' idiots started what. The Master is waiting, and I don't have to remind you two how important tonight is."_

_Maurice chose that moment to poke his head into the kitchen. "Anything I can help with?"_

_An agitated chorus of "No" met his question._

_The little man drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "I_am_her father, you know."_

"_As well as a bumbling ignoramus," Cogsworth muttered._

"_Why you-"_

_Piercing throughout the castle, through the rafters and searing hearts, the roar exploded, echoed, died._

_Silence slit into the kitchen. The four looked at each other warily, all arguments forgotten._

"_That shouldn't have happened."_

_Plans forgotten, dinner laid aside, they ran through the hallways and up the stairs, all still hearing the roar echo in the deep corners and worrying what such a sound might mean, what could bring on the ferocity of the roar._

_They found out upon arriving at the entrance of the library._

_And fervently hoped they were wrong._

* * *

_The night danced merrily along for Puck, peeping into castle windows and palace archways, reveling in the mayhem that he and his cohorts created. It took all willpower he had not to pop right in and gloat over the minor misfortunes that had been cast. The others walked ahead of him, leading the way in their own small coven, barely acknowledging the fey as he traipsed behind._

_Finally, looking at the position of the moon and stars in relation to the horizon, Puck announced with an exaggerated yawn, "Well, kids, it's been a long night, so I'm gonna turn in so the boss doesn't take Owen's head off in the morning. Ta-ta."_

_Maleficent cocked her head. "Where are you going? We haven't even begun."_

"_Huh? What about all the hand waving and chanting and people going all nutso? I thought we were done hours ago."_

_She laughed, cruelty and ice saturating her voice. "You fool. This was just a distraction."_

_All joviality and playful naughtiness Puck had felt instantly shriveled. "A…what?"_

"_Surely you did not believe we would waste an evening just to perform a little…mischief? Is that all you thought this was?"_

"_Well, I did. Right up until the point when you laughed evilly. So I should be going now and-"_

"_You are going nowhere, Trickster." The Queen shot out her hand and Puck felt her grip from yards away, squeezing him, tearing him apart from the magic that flowed through him, deadening his prowess._

_As Puck fought the spell, he suddenly realized where their wanderings had lead them. They had reached the foot of a mountain, barren of any tree, shrub or root. Eyes widening in genuine dread, he started, "You've got to be kidding! You're actually going to take on that monster-"_

"_He will bow to us. As you will now."_

* * *

_Beast never really knew what happened._

_That ignorance was hardly an absolution._

"_I knew you before I knew myself."_

_The library echoed with his quiet recitation, for even his whispers bore weight. In between syllables, he heard the drone of the clock's pendulum, swaying in a dawdling rhythm that defied all known constraints of time. When had the minutes ever passed by so slowly?_

"_I saw your face before I saw light."_

_He knew the words by heart; he'd always known them, had carried them for years, waiting for this night to share them with her. But the words didn't have to be just right; they had to be perfect, as did every aspect of this evening. So he began to pace around the library, stopping at each oil lamp and dimming them so that every book glowed as if gilded. Inwardly he smiled, knowing that Belle truly had no need for such show as she treasured books above gold any day. But he_wanted_to show the opulence, wanted to let her know that, if she wanted, he would gladly give her everything she'd ever wanted and more than she'd ever dreamed._

_She just had to say one word._

"_I loved you before I knew what love was."_

_And he remembered tugging on his shirt cuffs nervously, pulling at the lace and picking at imagined flecks of lint on his sleeves. He knew clock would chime soon, and he so badly wanted everything to be perfect for her. He looked towards the clock to see if it were almost time-_

Then darkness.

Blinded, deafened, bound and gagged from within his mind, he could only feel the sudden ire of the Other. Cast into sleep but still vaguely aware that his body did not rest, Beast felt all control start to slip away into oblivion.

A state entirely unacceptable.

He raged.

Raged against this being that possessed him, summoning his might and the vestiges of magic that still clung to him to drive away this Thing. He called upon the power that surged within him, tempering it with the calculating side of his mind, trying to wield a weapon to pry away the fiend.

It fought back, understanding the ways of force and intellect, responding in kind and drowning Beast in his own brutality. Emptiness rushed in, a dull and meaningless void of existence, a nothingness without…

Belle.

And he thought of Belle, his greatest love, his greatest light, his greatest joy.

The Other knew none of these things, did not understand how to combat such sensations, and promptly disintegrated in a wave of memory so that-

_-Beast staggered into the wall of reference books, cursing as the Encyclopedia Britannica came crashing down on him. Around him it was still dark, but not the endless black of the nether space. He seized the nearest lamp, lit it, then wished he hadn't._

_The library was in shambles: most of the lamps smashed into little more than shards, along with the tables they rested on; desks overturned, inkwells pooling in viscous puddles on the tiled floors; paintings and tapestries tattered so they resembled kindling more than art. Worst of all, knee-high piles of book remnants lay shredded across the floor, yards away from their binding, flakes of vellum and parchment mounding in a grotesque facsimile of snow, mingling with random pieces of broken furniture._

_He couldn't let her see this._

_He'd deal with…whatever that was that had happened later, but for right now he just had to make sure that Belle didn't see the library so decimated, for both his sake and hers. She'd be sick at the thought of all the books so desecrated and worried about him and what had happened. He'd meet her outside in the hallway, they'd stroll along the castle grounds, and talk. Just anywhere but here._

_He started to leave, hoping he could catch her-_

_There was a length of embroidered satin strewn under one of the larger piles of books. He almost put it out of his mind, thinking it was the ripped fabric from the upended settee perched on top of the papers, until he nearly stepped on the small gift-wrapped parcel at his feet._

_His world crumbled in that moment of realization._

_He kept calling her name as he hurled away the broken sofa, kept praying for her voice as he shifted the papers away. Then the crisp whites and beiges turned red just above her mangled body._

_What had he done?_

_Two long gashes ran down the side of her still face, her neck, tearing into her dress where they were met by three more wounds at her stomach. They continued down to the skirts of her dress, where the once-pristine satin now lay ragged in countless threads, combined with torn petticoats and slicked with blood from her thigh._

_What had he done to her?_

_It was as though the Fiend had come back and robbed him of all faculties save his vision, and the blood on her body and the blood he now saw matted on the fur of his hand seared themselves into his mind, and all he could process was what he had done, what he had done, what this horrible monster had done._

_And this Beast, this horrible, monstrous beast could never come near her again._

"_Master?"_

_Beast saw the blurred silhouettes of his ever-faithful servants standing in the doorway, felt their confusion, reflected his terror._

"_Help her."_

_And in a single bound out into the hallway, he disappeared._

_Appalled, terrified, and completely bewildered, the servants nevertheless did what had been commanded of them, though compassion demanded they do so anyway. Lumiere and Babette ran to seek help from the Healers, whoever was closer, while Maurice and Mrs. Potts remained in the library, tending to Belle in whatever way they could to make her more comfortable, if she could even register such a feeling. Cogsworth went off in search of Beast, demanding to know what had happened, only to be met with resounding silence._

_Maurice held his daughter's hand in his, frightened by its coolness. But as the minutes slipped away, a nip of tension returned his hold, and the spark heartened him._

"_It wasn't him."_

_Belle's voice, quiet as winter's first breath but clear in her pronouncement, brought Mrs. Potts and Maurice closer to her side._

"_Who was it, love?"_

"_It looked like him…but it wasn't…it couldn't…"_

_Maurice sighed, and continued his vigil as Belle closed her eyes again. He refused to let go even when a startled gasp caused him to look up at a paling Elizabeth Potts. Eyes wide, he followed her gaze to the window and past, where they could see the mountain range on the horizon, lit up brilliantly by increasing bolts of lightning._

_And the tallest mountain was unfurling its wings…_

* * *

_The wounds on her body healed, leaving no scars. Belle may have been the first victim of the Night of Dissension, but she was hardly the last. That was the night it was proved that the flesh of the Animasian is different from that of a human, as is everything physiological._

_The gashes on her body may not have been pleasant, but they weren't what hurt the most._

_How many days was it that she walked through the castle, never seeing him, never hearing the gait of his paws stride across the tiles? How many times did she look for him, only to find a ghost of a shadow that may have been his?_

_How many days before she learned no matter how much you loved someone, it was impossible to be in love with a shadow?_

_It was the day after she learned that excruciating lesson that Belle left the castle, left her father, his wife, and the rest of the staff to return to the empty cottage on the outskirts of a poor, provincial town._

_So when Gaston arrived at the door a few evenings later, offering a bouquet of sunset-hued chrysanthemums as a welcome back to the village gift, there was really no reason not to let him in._

_Nor was there any problem when, several months later, Gaston escorted her to the Christmas Gala in Agrabah and under a full sprig of mistletoe asked if he might have the pleasure in courting her._

_There really wasn't any reason to say no…_

"…it had started out so well…" Belle repeated, her voice a ghost of a whisper.

Elisa felt the enormity of the past unpleasantly slide up beside her, remembering things that were best left forgotten, but could never be. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone what happened?"

Belle turned, eyes questioning. "Why would I? They'd be afraid of him."

"But it was a spell from the Exiles-"

"Exactly. And certain…influential…people here would cause a panic if they thought he was looking at them the wrong way. And don't tell me they wouldn't. It's far safer to keep up the charade of him as the jilted lover and I as the heartless cow than to tell people what really happened. For his sake."

"And what about you? Why the hell is that fair to you?"

"It's not." A wry grin surfaced to her lips, distinctly out of place beneath her wide, despondent eyes. "Fairness is only meted out in fairytales."

Elisa shook her head. "You are the most stubborn-"

"He's worse."

"I know."

The firelight began to wane. Belle stood and poked at the wood, embers whirling up the chimney. She held a tapered candle by the flames long enough to ignite the wick, then lit the candles around the first floor of the home.

"You're right, it is getting chilly," Belle said as she returned to her chair. "I wish Papa still lived here."

"I take it everything's fine with him and Mrs. Potts?"

"Oh, yes. He's smitten with her," she grinned. The smile lost its momentum. "I'm glad for him. And you should be getting back home to your mate."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine; I've got the Communist Party to keep me company."

"Uh…enjoy?"

"You too."

Elisa let herself out. The quiet scattering of loose dirt gave way to the hard footfalls of rubber heels against sidewalk. The Eyrie stood before her, the castle top so high that the evening clouds obscured the turrets. But her real reason for looking up came down to meet her. Goliath folded his wings around her in an unexpected greeting. "Good evening, Elisa."

"Hi, big guy."

"How is Belle? Is she all right?"

"Not really. But she'll be damned if she lets anyone think otherwise."

"It was kind of you to see her."

"It's what good friends do."

"Yes."

She reveled in his embrace a little longer, feeling his heart pound against her cheek, feeling it pound faster when she ran her hand within the valley of his wings. "Goliath?"

"Hmm?"

"How about we shirk patrol duty tonight- and have Lexington and Hudson cover for us?" she quickly added, seeing the horror dawning on his face.

"That would be…quite acceptable."

"And perhaps enjoyable?"

"Most definitely."

"Then let's slink into the night."

Goliath needed no further prompting.

Someone had to have a happy ending to the evening, after all.


	8. Mhlaba Wethu, Izwe Lethu

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…

Author's note: Please forgive me if I totally slaughtered the Xulu language in the title. According to the translation provided by the "Rhythm of the Pride Lands" booklet, the title of this chapter roughly means: _Soil of the people, land of the people_…I hope.

Mhlaba Wethu, Izwe Lethu

"What the hell do you mean, the Pride won't come? You're shitting me, right?"

Flash tantrums seemed to be Misner's preferred method of communication lately. As the days proceeding his grand entrance into Animasia fettered away into weeks, Misner's attitude progressively worsened each time Mickey talked to him. The congenial demeanor he'd always assumed with the Mouse had all but disappeared as problem after problem surfaced. Problems, Mickey thought, Misner should have thought about before bringing up this whole integration thing.

Sitting opposite the CEO in his office, Mickey waited before coldly answering, "No, Nick. I'm not."

"Well, what the hell is their problem?"

"There is no problem, Nick. They just don't want to be a part of this."

"They don't have a choice, dammit."

"They what?"

The flare of anger dimmed in Misner's face as he settled back into his chair and drew a long breath. "Mickey," he finally began after a minute's pause, "you know, better than most, I'd imagine, that people…recognize certain Toons better than others. And right now, the Pride is one of the most recognizable groups of Toons that people are familiar with. What's it going to look like when they're not around with everyone else when the time for integration comes?"

"That democracy is strong and kicking in Animasia."

"It's going to broadcast to the whole world that Animasia isn't unified. And that you guys weren't all together on one of the most important decisions ever made in the whole history of the planet. It's not going to look good on anyone. And you guys sure as hell are going to need as little bad press as possible."

"Nick?"

"What?"

"Publicity's the kind of stuff your guys are supposed to deal with. I'm not about to force a kingdom to do something they don't want to do."

Misner sighed, then leaned forward, folding his hands on his desk. "Well, I guess PR will just have to deal with it."

"Exactly."

"We'll just leave it to them to figure it out."

"Yes."

"I mean, do we really need a couple more Toons who'd prefer to be kept locked away? They'd ruin the mood of the festivities if they showed up."

Mickey started to nod, then stopped, eyeing Misner suspiciously. A prickly sensation in his gut told Mickey there was trouble brewing across the desk. "What are you getting at, Nick?" he asked slowly, deliberately.

"Just trying to make a point, Mickey. We have some terrific public relations guys, as you know. And they can tell a story to the public that the masses would never question."

"How much truth would be in that story?"

Misner considered this a moment, looking not at Mickey but at his pen, polished ebony with gold trim, initials NEM glistening neatly in the slats of sun straining though the closed blinds. "However little was needed."

Already imagining the sorts of deception that would be spun, Mickey's tail lashed out in helpless fury. "I'll see what I can do," he said through gritted teeth.

Misner's entire demeanor changed instantly, perking up so that he might almost be construed as friendly. "Great. Oh, and one more thing- where's Beast been lurking around? Elaine tells me he hasn't been to any meetings, either."

* * *

The afternoon summer sun swayed its way over the lazy trees of the of the Rhône Valley, warm light bathing the vale and ripening the scent of the lilac blossoms. Vineyards stretched out in rolling maw of the plains, and the heady promise of a new vintage seeped into the breeze.

Ariel trailed behind Belle as the latter carried a bucket of water from the front of the cottage to the hencoop in the back, crystal droplets splashing gently on her apron every few steps. Hands already full of a crumpled booklet, Ariel nudged the coop door open with her bare elbow, avoiding an entanglement with her sundress on the spiraled wire. "I don't know why you aren't more upset about this."

Belle laughed. "I don't know why you're upset at all."

"It's not funny."

"You're right, it's not. It's just ludicrously asinine."

"Belle-"

Pouring the water into a shallow dish for the chickens to drink, Belle just shook her head. "This is not something to get worried over, Ariel. So they didn't invite the rest of your family to participate in the Royal Entourage. Your family should be grateful. The less royal balls this place has, the better."

"It's an insult."

"Ariel." Belle set the bucket down, wiped her hands off on her apron and took her friend by the shoulders. "Ella and Snow are all about appearances. The only reason you have that propaganda in your hand is because there's a crown attached to your name. And it's a crown you married into, not the one that is yours by default. They don't care about those who are less-than-traditional. Less than themselves in their skewed sense of the world."

"My father's a king."

"Your father's an excellent king, and a very good man. I'm not disputing that. But they'll never look at him as an equal."

Ariel stared at the pamphlet in her hands, the title "Rules & Etiquette of the Royal Entourage" scrolled on the top. "It didn't sound too bad when they asked me to join."

"I have a feeling it never does."

"I still don't understand why they didn't ask you."

Gently shooing a wayward chick away from the overturned pail, Belle smiled. "Commoner, remember?"

"But you almost were a princess…" Ariel trailed off, heat rising into her cheeks as she watched Belle for some sort of response. "Sorry."

Quietly, Belle asked, "Does it matter to you that I'm not so-called royalty?"

"Of course not."

"Well then."

"I just wish I had someone to talk to during all these balls we're supposed to host."

"There's always your husband."

In a half-nod, her gaze dropped to the pamphlet in her hand. Startled, Ariel's jaw dropped slightly. "Not according to rule Number 19."

"Pardon?"

Ariel sighed as the two walked down to the stream. As the sat down on the banks, she read with a dull inflection, "'A Princess would do well to honor her husband by refraining from idle chatter when in the company of other men. They are not impressed by womanly conversation; true gentlemen avoid it when they can. It is she who is withdrawn from masculine dialogue that benefits her spouse.'"

Belle stared at Ariel, appalled. "Please tell me you don't believe in this nonsense."

"No!"

"Then why are you even going along with this?"

In a small voice saturated with regret, Ariel said, "I signed a contract before they handed me this. And I can't get out of it because there's already all these meetings and events and parties scheduled with humans and I can't back out. It won't look…'unified' or something." She peeled off her sandals and slipped her feet into the stream, kicking her frustration at the gentle current playing with her toes. "You're right. My family's much better off without this."

"They already have an itinerary planned?"

"Yeah. I guess Ella's been talking to some of the humans that haven't been teaching and she's been setting up…what was the term…'photo ops' for us."

Belle reflected a moment on the etymology of the term. "As in photography?"

"I guess."

"Have fun."

"Thanks."

They sat quietly for a while, only the brook babbling on and even it didn't have much to say.

* * *

It was hard not to hear Mickey storming through the house.

Minnie had just finished cutting up sandwiches in the kitchen when she heard the front door slam shut, followed by the aggravated pounding of shoes on a hardwood floor. Pluto whimpered his way through the kitchen, turning his head every now and then to make sure his master wasn't following him. After watching Pluto skulk through the dog flap that led to the backyard, Minnie wiped her hands on a dishtowel and quickly walked into the living room.

Mickey paced the width of the room back and forth in front of the large bay window, hands clamped behind his back, scowling. His tail kept time to his strides, a razor-thin pendulum swishing in half time.

"Not a good meeting, then?" Minnie asked, plainly knowing the answer.

Mickey threw her a biting glare that quickly told her how bad of a meeting it really was. "What happened?"

He paused. "He threatened the Pride."

Minnie's eyes flew wide. "He _what?_What did he say?"

"Well…it was kinda vague…"

"What did he kinda do then?"

"It was…" Mickey broke off, resumed his agitated pacing. "He didn't do or say anything that would sound like a threat, but it was there, he was hinting at something."

Minnie was quiet for a long time before finally venturing, "Mickey…do you think you might have been imagining it?"

He stopped as though physically struck by the force of her words. Stunned, he looked at her with the gaze of one wounded, uncertain, dazed, hurting. "I never thought you wouldn't believe me, Min."

Realizing what her words meant to him, she began, "That's not what I said, Mickey. I-"

"It's okay," he sighed, walking over to the hallway closet and pulling out an old jacket. "I'm getting used to it."

"Mickey Mouse-"

"I'm going to take a walk." He slung the jacket over his arm and started to head outside. "Don't wait up."

"But…" Minnie's voice trailed, trying to get him to stay. "It's your game night."

"Take my spot. And see if you can stop Donald's winning streak."

And he was gone.

* * *

Lexington stared at the computer monitor, at the blank screen in front of him. The blinking cursor stared back, so, unnerved, Lexington brought up the schematics for the Excalibur and an internet window and began looking up the day's stock numbers for Xanatos.

Looking at the gains made, Lexington felt that familiar lurch of integrity rearing its head. That he'd managed to stumble upon a link to the human's world was exciting enough, but the fact that he'd never told the Clan, or anyone else for that matter, about his discovery was always…troublesome. Guilt seemed to jab at him every time he brought the system online, secrecy not exactly a hallmark of honor for the Clan.

For the umpteenth time, he wished again Xanatos hadn't caught him reading over those stupid news reports. If he hadn't…well, at the very least, he wouldn't be stuck looking at Wall Street numbers. Even with his technically brilliant mind, his understanding of the inner workings of the American stock system were murky at best.

Lexington leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and draping his webbed wings onto his lap. Ignoring the numbers popping up in front of him, he let himself ponder some of the minutiae that were still plaguing him about the Excalibur's transmitter.

The car was ready to go; he already had the prototype sitting in the garage down at the street level. What had been an theoretical experiment for the joy of experiment's sake had, along with the discovery of the net, been proprietied over to Xanatos, though he'd promised Lexington untold riches when the vehicle made its debut on the consumer's market. As long as he got credit for its invention, Lexington didn't give a hoot one way or the other if he got compensated, though he was smart enough not to reveal that little tidbit.

Now was the stage where he just wanted to tinker and tweak, trying to see what could give the best possible outcome overall. If he adjusted the frequency of the of the receiver, would it improve the front sensors and give them a greater reaction time? Or would it be better-

"Watcha working on?"

Lexington slammed the Alt/Ctrl/Del command so fast he was afraid he might have killed the keyboard in the process. Feigning as much casualness as possible while making sure that the internet window was indeed down, he said, "Oh, hi Elisa. Just putting around on the computer. Goliath's in the Great Hall."

"Thanks, Lex."

As he watched Elisa walk away to find her mate, he waited she had left to release the air out of his lungs.

This was stupid.

He should just go to Goliath and tell him that he had found this entryway to the humans' world. He should share the information with the Clan, and in turn with the rest of Animasia. Just so they would be better prepared come January.

The taskbar at the bottom of the screen suddenly announced a new window. Puzzled, he read the description: "Transmit: . ." Now intrigued, he clicked on the taskbar, wondering what he might find.

He could always tell Goliath later.

* * *

Night came to the Pride Lands as it usually did, the last of the kingdoms to gain the darkness. The dusk turned quietly spectacular as the Light ebbed away, catching its last rays and throwing them into a prism of jewels. The last joyful streaks of citrine mellowed into amber and ruby, seeped a dazzling splash of amethyst and finally, the deepest sapphire stretched forth from the eastern horizon.

Mickey watched the twilight fade away, watched the stars roll themselves out upon the velvet night. He found that, though he had wanted to get away for a while and think, there were really no thoughts worth dwelling on. Just an emptiness, and a terrible touch of apathy that threatened to grow if not quelled.

The Pride Lands had never been his destination. They hadn't even been part of the journey, but now here, he felt no hurry to leave. In the cooling breeze of the sunless plain, he pulled on his jacket, meandering his way towards Pride Rock.

He hadn't imagined it.

He had no idea what Misner may be plotting- _planning_, he wasn't some criminal mastermind…hopefully. And it could very well be that the public relations staff could concoct some great tale about why the Pride liked their privacy so much that they would miss out on all the great goings-on.

But he really didn't believe it.

He was worried.

Much more than before, when he just worried that humanity would go xenophobic on Animasia.

Now he was worried about what those within the company might do.

Maybe it was high time to call Bugs.

As soon as the thought strayed, he angrily dismissed it. Opening that still-festering wound wouldn't do anyone good, especially now.

So on he trod a meandering path to Pride Rock. Even though the stone behemoth was still a distance off, already he could hear the familiar rumbling of the Lands' king. Mickey quickened his pace a bit, hearing not the commands of a ruler but the timbre of a storyteller. An altogether excellent diversion from the current trouble

Halfway to the base of the Promontory, Zazu appeared, delighted to show off his secretarial prowess. "Good evening to you, sir! May I announce you to King Mufasa?"

"It's all right, Zazu. I can wait till he's done."

"Very well." The hornbill lighted on a nearby acacia branch as Mickey crept up a bit further to listen to the words spoken.

Mufasa and Simba sat in front of the main cavern, Simba curled in his father's paws, listening rapturously to the tale of the first king of the Pride Lands

"…Maliki knew that something must be done to protect his people from the terrors of the black night, but even he was at a loss. The utter darkness that came when the Light faded from the horizon was so complete that even the great king was frightened of nightfall. There were no stars to guide him, for there were no kings to seek guidance from. And Maliki began to understand loneliness as well as fear."

Here Mufasa paused, twitching his hear towards the direction Mickey stood, several pebbles scraping down the incline by the Mouse's foot. Returning to the story, Mufasa continued: "Maliki knew what he must do. He bade his pride goodbye and set off to the highest mountain where the earth touches the sky. It took him a very long time as he could only travel while the Light remained. Finally he reached the mountain and began climbing, climbing until the sky touched his mane and he could feel the Light encompassing his entire body.

"Kneeling before the setting sun, Maliki cried, 'Oh blessed Light! I am the King of the Pride Lands, a child of you sister, the Earth. My people ask me every day when you shine down upon us, "Help us, o mighty king! The night falls and we cannot see the whiskers in front of our faces. Why must the night be so dark?" And so I humbly ask on behalf of my people for just a little of yourself to shine through the uncertain night. If I could give them what they asked for, I gladly would do so. I would let light stream forth from me so that my people would never be afraid again. But I am a lowly beast, and do not have the power to give solace to my people.'

"The spirits of the sky heard Maliki's prayer and took pity on him. As darkness fell, they lifted him into the sky and bathed his body in the last rays of the Light so that he too echoed of Light. Night fell, but its darkness was no longer complete. Glowing brightly in he night sky was the first star, the first Great King of the Pride Lands."

Simba was reflectively silent for a while before he finally ventured, "So Maliki died?"

There was a hesitancy in Mufasa's speech when he answered, "His body died, Simba, but his spirit remains with that star forever."

"Will we die?"

Mickey waited for the answer, wondering if Mufasa had thought through his new mythology before he told it to his immortal son.

"Simba, as long as you are a good prince and you treat everyone else with respect, you'll shine so brightly the heavens won't miss you."

Pleased with the answer, the cub nodded. "I think I can do that."

"Good," his father grinned. "Now, bedtime."

A bit of good-natured grumbling followed Simba into the mouth of the cave. "G'night, Dad."

"Good night, son." Mufasa turned towards the outcropping where Mickey sat in wait. "And how can I help you tonight, Mickey?" he called out.

Mickey picked himself up and left his hiding spot as Zazu discreetly flew off, quietly muttering about appearances. "Your hearing is sharp as ever."

Another grin. "I saw you walking down below."

"Oh."

"You did not come here to chat idly."

"No. Care for a little stroll?"

"Not at all."

After briefly checking to see Simba curled up with Sarabi, Mufasa and Mickey left Pride Rock and headed towards the lowlands. Cicadas strummed their repertoire from their hidden coves as the rolling grasses swayed in time to the wind and the beat.

"You are troubled," Mufasa observed quietly.

"Yes. I suppose I am," Mickey chuckled sadly. Then without preamble, "You need to join with the rest of them."

Mufasa stopped cold. "Absolutely not," he growled.

"It's for your safety."

"We are safe here."

"I don't know about that."

Mufasa gave Mickey a look that the Mouse felt must have been very similar to the one he gave Misner. "What do you know?"

"That's the problem," Mickey sighed. "I don't."

"I see."

"Mufasa, I don't know what lies in store for Animasia. But I do know that safety lies in numbers, and right now you're singled out and isolated from the same people who called you as a war hero not that long ago."

"An excellent reason not to return to that crowd of lemmings."

As much as Mickey wanted to agree with the lion, he knew he had to play the devil's advocate. "Mufasa…what is it precisely that you have against integration?"

"Concisely?"

"Yes."

"I fear we will be exploited for our uniqueness, and I fear that most will allow that to happen without truly realizing what is going on. I do not want my son exploited for entertainment's sake."

Mickey fought down the urge to nod his head. "Mufasa, the humans won't be in charge of us for that long."

"I have a feeling they'd beg to differ."

"I'm not going to let them."

The clarity of the statement, of its total conviction surprised both, especially Mickey. Yet he believed it, and the fear and dread he'd carried for months began to dissipate. A new hope and an old promise whispered their way into his heart, and he knew, eventually, instinctively, things would be all right.

"How are you going to do that?"

"With an old pact, some even older magic, and the help of true friends." Mickey paused, letting his mind catch up with the words. "I'm not promising an easy journey, and we'll have to do things their way before the others start realizing what a mistake that was. But we'll win."

And the king saw that hope in Mickey's eyes, not that resignation that plagued him that night at the Town Hall. "I'll have to talk it over with the Pride."

"You do that. And I'll be waiting for you."

Mufasa nodded, then bowed, dipping his head beneath his shoulders. _"Maliki."_

* * *

Minnie paced anxiously across the threshold of the house, waiting for Mickey to return. Donald and Goofy had taken over the living room, sitting, standing, and generally feeling uncomfortable and worried. Daisy remained outside with her friend, absentmindedly stroking Pluto every now and then and reassuring Minnie that everything was fine.

"Minnie! Hey, Min!"

Mickey's voice rose through the night air, catching everyone in the house with relieved astonishment. Far from the morose mouse Minnie had described to them earlier, this Mickey beamed as he ran up the lawn to Minnie.

From inside, Goofy peered through the window. "He doesn't look like he jumped in the lake."

Donald glared at him, annoyed. "Oh, shut up."

Bewildered, Minnie didn't quite know how to react as Mickey caught her in a great hug, practically lifting her off the ground. "Are you all right?" she asked, still worried despite his radiant smile.

"Yes. We're going to the Palace."

She still stared at him blankly. "Which one?"

"Ours."

When realization took hold, she let out a cry of delight and fully returned his embrace.


	9. Xanadu

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…Oh, and Coleridge wrote "Kubla Khan, or, a Vision in a Dream Fragment." Which just goes to show you that sobriety has its advantages.

Author's Notes: Any Author's notes are posted in my bio. And there are a couple. Also, I'm passing along word that there is a new "Beauty and the Beast" section in the movies category. There's some good stuff there if you haven't already checked it out.

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a Stately Pleasure Dome Decree…"

Central Park lay silent under the glow of the harvest moon. Tinges of autumn curled at the otherwise verdant leaves, insinuating the chill to soon come. In a large clearing, three figures huddled around a small vehicle gleaming elegantly in the yellow light from the moon.

Xanatos walked slowly around the Excalibur, appraising every detail under his scrutinizing eyes. Every now and then, he'd stoop down and peer through a window, examine the interior, then continue his circle. Finally, after several times around the car, Xanatos looked down at Lexington and smiled. "Excellent, my friend."

Lexington let out a silent sigh of relief. "You like it?"

"I'll like it even better when you show me what it does in action. But it looks exquisite."

"Thanks. Though the design's really just to enhance the performance-"

"Fine, fine. So how does it perform?"

"Even better than it looks."

Scrooge finally broke his silence, jabbing his cane at the Excalibur. "This scrap of metal is supposed to secure our fortune?"

Xanatos frowned. "Scrooge, you have the diplomatic grace of a drunken sow."

"That's why I'm not a diplomat, David. Business man, pure and simple, and I don't skirt the issue." Looking now at Lexington, Scrooge asked pointedly, "So, laddie, how is this different than any other car that a human drives?"

"I'll show you."

Lexington opened the driver's side door and scooted in, wrapping his tail around the seat. He kept the door open so Xanatos and Scrooge could see what he was doing. Once he turned on the ignition, more a purr than a roar, he gestured over to an LCD panel sitting low on the dashboard. "This is how they're different. You tell the car where you want to go by punching in either coordinates or an address-" here he punched in longitude and latitude degrees "-and the car drives itself to that point. All the driver has to do is make sure he brought enough magazines for the ride."

"How?"

"The car synthesizes a GPS device and a sensory system I invented. When they're used together, they not only navigate the car, but the sensors detect the environment around the car and adjust the speed and handling automatically. If a tree fell a hundred, ten, even two feet down the road, the car would know whether it should stop, swerve, or veer to a free lane."

Scrooge cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at the enthusiastic gargoyle. "In English, man."

Lexington narrowed his eyes, his dislike for the old curmudgeon rapidly growing. Irritated, he said, "It's the safest vehicle ever built. It can anticipate a crash and prevent it from happening a whole lot better than some stupid-"

"And that's where you stop with the colorful commentary," Xanatos interjected. "Insulting your customer base is not the best way to get them to buy your product."

With a shrug, Lexington turned back towards the LCD panel. "He asked," he mumbled, typing in s new set of coordinates.

"So he did. What do you think, Scrooge?"

Scrooge looked over the bulk of the car, disdain still clearly evident behind his spectacles. "I think he needs to prove it."

"That's what I was about to do." Lexington set his jaw rigidly. "I'm telling the car to go across this path for half a mile. It'll stop at the fountain." And with a slam of the door, the Excalibur rolled down the paved walkway.

From the outside, it didn't look all that spectacular: a sleek black car precisely navigating a meandering trail at a happy clip…a preview that was tame even by Animasia's modest standards. However, there was something to be appreciated about the fact that Lexington hadn't even lifted a hand to the steering column once since he closed the door. The car was entirely driving itself.

At the end of the demonstration, Xanatos called out for a return trip, which Lexington happily obliged. However, as the car drove closer, Scrooge walked right into the pathway of the vehicle, some two feet in front of a car cruising at 35 mph.

And silently, without a screeching brake shattering the night nor the horrible stench of burned rubber, the Excalibur simply slipped by him, smooth as silk flowing over water, never letting a feather ruffle.

Xanatos yelled at Scrooge as the duck dazedly returned to the grassy knoll, gripping his cane feverishly. Lexington only heard the end of it as he shut off the engine and hurried over to the two.

"-appalling, imbecilic _idiocy_ that you just pulled-"

"But it worked," Lexington piped in. "It was exactly the kind of randomness that can't be programmed and it _worked_!"

"True, but…true. Well done, Scrooge. Want to see if we can bounce an anvil off your top hat?"

Scrooge didn't seem to be paying attention. "Millions," he muttered, eyes glinting hungrily. "Billions, even…"

Xanatos grinned. "I'd say he's convinced. Well, how about we head back to the Eyrie and salute the first venture of Trinity Corp?"

Lexington looked up at Xanatos. "That's kinda humble of you."

"It is, isn't it? I figure it's best we start out well rather than squabbling over petty details from the onset."

"Billions of billions…" Scrooge muttered as they drove back to the Eyrie.

* * *

_I let her go._

_You…what? How could you do that?_

_I had to._

_Yes, but-but_why?

_Because…I love her._

"Anything wrong, my love?"

Sitting in the glow of an oil lamp at the kitchen table in the cottage, Belle glanced up at Gaston from the text of the script she was reviewing and shrugged. "I think we're just wasting our time on this."

"I'm sure it's important somehow."

"No. It's not."

"It" referred to an increasing amount of busywork that was passed off as "homework" in classes. Even more distressing, at least to Belle, was the fact that less and less time was being spent learning about the world of humanity. In its stead, more and more humans were trickling into Animasia- there were at least ten now- and all they were teaching were the ways in which the rest of humanity adored all the "characters" of Animasia.

Gaston chuckled. "Are you always so sure of yourself?"

"In this case, yes." She held the script in her hands- her script, the script of the film that birthed her whole world- and threw it down on the table, exasperated. "They already made us watch the film half a dozen times. Why do we have to 'get to know our characters more'? We're not already aware of who we are? Unless this is some pathetic attempt at psychoanalysis, which I highly doubt, it-"

Gaston's voice overtook hers, soothing yet commanding. "Belle, look at me." She looked, questioning. In the most earnest expression she'd ever seen him wear, he asked her suavely, "Aren't I a handsome spectacle to behold?"

Mouth gaping, Belle stared at the horrible mirror-version of her beau until he started smiling, then laughing, knowing how ridiculous he sounded. She joined in, realizing his mockery and very glad to be laughing at something so ridiculous and over-the-top as his onscreen persona. "You scared me for a minute," she said, still giggling and enjoying her silliness.

"'You'll find I'm just full of surprises,'" he quoted, then frowned, regaining his sincerity. Taking one of her hands into his, he began rubbing the tension away. "I know this isn't easy for you. Any of it."

Belle shook her head, choosing to ignore the more loaded part of that statement. "I still can't believe you're the villain. There never was a masculine villain in the written tradition of the tale."

"Yes, well..." Gaston rolled his eyes. "You know I'd never hurt you."

"I know." She smiled, squeezed his hands. "I know."

"Good. Because I have a question I need to ask you and I couldn't very well ask it if you were passively scared of me."

Something in her chest went _thud_and she was pretty sure it wasn't her heart- more like her chest cavity collapsing in on itself. "What kind of question?"

Gaston thought for a moment before answering slyly, "It's a short question, but it has a rather long answer."

"Do you think I know the answer?"

"I certainly hope you do."

A knock rapped sharply against the front door.

Husky shoulders sagging, Gaston seemed to deflate a bit. "I'll ask you later," he said offhandedly.

Trying to hide a sudden wave of shakiness, Belle stood and headed over to the impatient door. Outside in the autumn dusk stood a human man, quickly masking his impatience with an overly bright smile. "May I help you?" Belle asked cautiously.

"A pleasure, Belle, a great pleasure," the man said, his smile rooted firmly in place. "My name's Brian Alder. I'm with the Special Interests PR."

Still wary, Belle looked closely at the stranger. "I don't recall seeing you at classes."

"I've been dealing specifically with the Royal Entourage."

"Oh." An immediate dislike of this dullard of a man crept into Belle. "Well, you've come to the wrong cottage. If you just follow the path, it will take you to somewhere between Far, Far Away and Hopelessly Lost."

He cleared his throat. "Actually, you're precisely the reason why I'm here. Do you mind if I come in?"

"We were-"

"Splendid." He scooted in the narrow opening between Belle and the doorframe. Before Belle could reproach the stranger for entering her house uninvited, Gaston rose from the table, towering over the little man.

"I don't believe you were invited in," Gaston said, striding in front of Brian so that he wouldn't move any farther into the cottage.

Rather than address the obvious threat, Brian looked at Gaston quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"Why on earth should that matter?" Belle asked.

"It…well…it doesn't make any sense, really."

"Of course it does. Gaston is courting me."

Disbelief crinkled his high forehead. "You're kidding."

Truly annoyed now, Belle retorted, "When are you people going to realize that those stupid movies don't reflect who we are? No real person can be as good or as bad as those…images. And we're real people! That's why we want to be part of the real world."

"That's why we're here to help you, Belle," Brian explained warmly, all incredulity vanished. "_We_ know, all the people who've come to help with the integration know that you're all very unique individuals. It's the public who won't understand so easily that you're different from your theatrical counterparts."

"So you'll just encourage that train of thought with nonsense like the Royal Entourage."

"The Royal Entourage will provide a very important bridge between our two worlds."

"How?"

Brian looked up at Gaston, who hadn't moved throughout the entire course of dialogue. He remained glowering over the tiny man, though Brian seemed quite unfazed by the protective, irritated glare pulsating over him. "The Entourage will be able to teach the public about life in Animasia, customs, lifestyles, anything and everything. And you'll learn much more quickly about the ways of men through the dialogues the Entourage will establish."

Despite herself, images of returning to the classroom longingly, achingly sparked into her mind as soon as she heard him say "teach." Only this time, she would be prepared, and she would instigate countless expeditions into the human psyche, offering hypotheses that she would readily defend and others she would accept most willingly from her students. A great discourse would flow easily every class session, and the exchange of knowledge would lead to a great and universal understanding between races, paint and flesh transcending all previous barriers.

And then she remembered her talk with Ariel. Will hardened, she asked coldly, "What about those stupid rules?"

"Which…oh." Brian grinned, and with a cavalier shrug explained, "Ella got a little overzealous. We talked. Everything's fine. So you'll join the Entourage?"

The question flew past her so quickly she almost didn't realize it. "Pardon?"

"I came to ask you to be part of the Royal Entourage. The next meeting is tomorrow night."

"But I don't-"

"See you then!" And as quickly as he'd scurried into Belle's home, he disappeared though the door.

Both Gaston and Belle looked at each other, trying to ascertain what, precisely, had just happened. "You're not going, are you?" Gaston asked.

Belle shuddered. "Of course not." As she slid back into her seat, she picked up her copy of "American Century," deciding to ignore the discarded script. "Can you imagine, he asked me-" She broke off, then groaned. "Oh lord, I'm quoting myself."

Gaston laughed. "Will you be able to live down the shame?"

"I'm not sure."

"Would you like me to let you read?"

"You're leaving then?"

"I'll go check the perimeter to make sure that little runt isn't hiding. Good night, my love."

He kissed her, smiled, then left the cottage. Belle drooped into the back of the chair, still reeling over the incessant string of events of the evening. Yet the single thought that dominated was that brief, wistful image of being back in the classroom. And, much to her horror, she wondered just how much, if any, educating would be involved in the duties of the Royal Entourage.

* * *

Elisa wasn't sure what she was getting into as she crossed the threshold of the Palace. The magic infused in the Town Hall felt like the cheapest sort of parlour tricks compared to the omnipresent, mystical power pulsating from the interior of the Palace. Opulence draped languidly over the entrance hall in the guise of gilded archways, magnificent tapestries, reliefs and statuary. A particularly striking tapestry of a winter's eve scene called Elisa's attention. Walking up to the embroidered artwork, she found herself entranced in the moment displayed, a silent procession on a moonlit plain, snow lustrous in silver. Several of the cloaked members in the procession held flickering lanterns, which even through the threads appeared to be dancing. Despite herself, Elisa raised a hand to the tapestry, a quick touch to assure herself it was just a tapestry and nothing more…

…and when her hand passed through the threads, she snapped her arm back, withdrawing her entire self from the work. To her further amazement, she found snow clinging to her jacket, steadily dripping onto the polished floor in the still-warm air.

"It's a Moment," a voice behind her explained.

Elisa turned, finding Minnie watching her with that ever-present calmness she possessed. "Thought it was a tapestry," Elisa said, shaking off the melting snow and walking over to the mouse.

"It certainly looks like a tapestry," Minnie acknowledged as she began leading Elisa down a long, high-ceilinged corridor. "It's much easier to access a Moment when it's formed like a tapestry rather than a painting. The threads separate much easier than trying to get through a wall of acrylic. Where's Goliath?"

"He's outside. He wanted to make sure we weren't followed."

"Good thinking."

"Yeah." Drafts of air tumbling down the hall felt thick with enchantment, and Elisa could swear she saw just the faintest glimmers of pixie dust curling on the crest of each breeze. "Um…so what _is_ a Moment?"

Minnie smiled in a motherly sort of way. "It's a breath of history."

Still lost, Elisa shrugged. "All right."

"A Moment is just that- a moment in time perfectly preserved so well that it's still possible to experience that moment, but no more than a moment. That particular Moment was…" Minnie's eyes unfocused, remembering. "Well, a long time ago. We were caroling door-to-door. It was one of the first Christmases we celebrated in Animasia. You're tracking in snow that's seventy years old."

"Still cold."

"It should be."

They passed several more tapestries, scenes of celebrations, Introductions, holidays. "Are they all happy Moments?" Elisa asked

Minnie paused, then slowly shook her head. "No."

"Oh." After a couple footfalls' worth of silence, Elisa ventured, "So where-"

"Here we are," Minnie announced as they stopped at a rather nondescript doorway. Silently, the two doors opened, revealing a cavernous throne room. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into a haze of gold, casting warmth down on those below. Mickey, Donald, Goofy and Daisy were sitting at the head of a long ebony table while Mufasa and Taka sat on accommodating cushions. Robin Hood and Marian sat across from the two lions, talking quietly to each other, hands clasped together on the table.

"Hiya, Detective," Mickey greeted with a smile, demolishing some of the formality inherent in such a grand place. "Have a seat. Goliath's coming, isn't he?"

"He'll be right here." Elisa walked up to the table and took a seat next to Mufasa. The king nodded to her and said, "I'm a little surprised to see you here, Elisa. Grateful, but surprised."

"Goliath's pretty persuasive," she said with a small grin. "But I've been worried about the direction the newcomers are steering the rest of us in. I don't trust them."

"Nor do we," Robin said, looking across the table. "They seem obsessed with some sort of an image of us rather than…us."

"Our counterparts."

"Yes."

Taka growled.

Donald frowned at the lion, annoyed at the interruption in the conversation he was having with Daisy. "What?"

Quietly defiant, Taka answered, "I'm not a murderer."

Stunned, Donald quacked back, "I hope not!"

"Taka hasn't adjusted well to the revelation he's a fratricidal maniac," Mufasa explained, suppressing a grin.

Taka shot his brother a withering look through his scarred eye. "It's not funny, Mufasa. I'm going to be the most hated Toon-"

"Don't say that," Mickey cut in sharply, startling all. "You're not a Toon. You're an Animasian. Don't let them degrade you."

"That didn't used to be a derogatory term, Mickey," Minnie said softly. "We all took it."

"That was a long time ago, Min. _They_ didn't have a problem with it and look where they are now."

"That has nothing to do with what happened to them."

Mickey just shrugged.

As no one else in the room seemed to know what was going on, an uncomfortable lull hung over the words until Elisa asked, "Where's Sarabi?"

"She's watching the cubs," Mufasa answered. "It may have looked suspicious if all three of us left for the evening."

"So not everyone knows that you're here?"

The king shook his head. "No. And that is probably safer."

"Why?"

"I think Timon is more than ready to sell his soul for an…endorsement? Is that the word?"

"Yes," Mickey said glumly.

"So we're being careful."

"More careful than he was."

All heads in the throne room turned as Goliath angrily strode in, clutching a highly disgruntled Eric by the front of his shirt. "He was spying."

"I was not!" Eric protested, sputtering indignation.

"What are you doing here, Eric?" Mickey asked, rising from his seat. "Let him go, Goliath."

Throwing Goliath an angry glare that Goliath equally returned, Eric paused as he straightened himself up before replying, "I came here hoping to join you guys. I was looking for a way in because the gate was locked when Goliath enthusiastically knocked the wind out of me."

As Goliath was about to retort his own version of events, Mickey shook his head. "Let him finish on his own, Goliath. Eric, how did you find out about this and why do you want to join us?"

Looking over at the table, the prince said, "Robin told me. We were at the practice field for a, uh…gentlemen's wager." He grinned sheepishly. "Anyway, I was complaining to Robin about that stupid Entourage crap. I barely get to see Ariel anymore since she's always at some meeting or other thing. I hate that. And I'm pretty sure she hates it, too. And I want to help her. So here I am."

"Does she know you're here?"

"No. I don't want to get her in trouble."

Mickey nodded. "Take a seat."

With a sigh of relief, Eric said, "Thank you." He walked around the table and sat next to the foxes.

Marian peered past Robin and looked at Eric with interest. "What was the bet?"

"Oh, if Robin couldn't splice two arrows in half, he owed me two rounds at the tavern."

"Is _that _why-"

"I am very glad to see all of you here tonight," Mickey started, putting an end to all the chatter around the table. "Before we get started, you all should know that we do not have an easy task on our hands. Just from listening to your stories here, most everyone else still seems enamored with the human way of integration. Well, maybe not even humanity's way, but it certainly is Misner's way. I'm afraid that they will all become greatly disappointed with that method as time wears on. But it will still take awhile before they realize this, and even longer before we gain more allies."

It was Elisa who asked the first question. "Mickey, what exactly are we going to do?"

In a tone filled with certainty, Mickey answered, "We're taking back Walt's kingdom."

* * *

Five princesses gathered in the Town Hall, four watching the fifth chew out Mr. Brian Alder with as much refinement as possible. "You had no right to do this, Mr. Alder," Ella said daintily in a voice slit with ice.

"She has every right to be here, Ella," he explained, exasperation faint in his speech. "What do you have against her, anyway?"

With as much contempt as she could compact into a statement, she declared, "She's a scarlet woman."

Brian frowned. "I highly doubt that. But quite frankly, I don't care if she's the Whore of Babylon. According to everything the public knows, she's a Princess, and so, is part of this group."

"The public can be re-educated."

"Not in three months."

"What's the Whore of Babylon?" Jasmine asked, wide-eyed.

"Never mind."

"'The Mother of harlots and abominations of the earth who was drunk with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus,'" Belle recited quietly as she stepped into the hall out of the shadows. "Hardly the type of woman to be associated with the good name of Disney."

"Exactly my point," Ella said, turning her spite towards Belle.

"I didn't mean that, Belle," Brian quickly piped up.

"I know you didn't. I know she did, though."

Ella walked over to Belle, appraising her. "Little Beauty, we did not call for you to be here."

Looking past Ella and over at Brian, Belle said simply, "He did."

"He overstepped his authority. The Entourage is exclusively for the royal classes of Animasia. You are in no way royalty."

"And you're in no way a lady, but that hasn't stopped you from proclaiming yourself a princess."

Ella's eyes flashed with a livid ferocity. "You filthy little slut-"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you call me that?"

"If the shoe fits."

"We can't all have dainty feet." Stepping away from her antagonizer, Belle told Brian, "I accept the invitation to the Royal Entourage-"

"Excellent," Brian beamed.

"-_provided_," Belle emphasized, "there will indeed be opportunities given for our two cultures to learn from each other."

"Of course."

_"No!"_ Ella shrieked. "You can't let that harlot tarnish us."

Before Brian could smooth things over, Belle quickly and pointedly asked, "How are you possibly going to be ready for the world out there if you can't accept me? I'm sorry that I don't fit your model, whatever that may be, but if I cause you this much grief, why are you clamoring to get out of here?"

Ella's pale lips twitched but no sound came. Using the moment of silence to his advantage, Brian said, "Well, now that that is settled, we can start back where we left off. On the evening of New Year's Day, the six of you will be expected at…"

Ariel slid over to Belle and deftly tugged at her sleeve. "I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

Belle sighed. "That makes one of us."

"Then why did you come?"

"I don't…I'm not sure. I guess I didn't want to be useless anymore."

"What?"

"Later."

And while the Town Hall plodded with the inane details of what dress could be worn to such event and Belle wondered just what good she could bring to such a pathetic excuse for a clique, whispers of hope resonated off the walls of Mickey's Palace; daring, backs-against-the-wall hope.


	10. Joyeüx Noël

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…

Disclaimer: Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Eve And Other Stories" is the best thing to happen to Christmas music since…well, at least since Bing Crosby started crooning "White Christmas," but possibly even longer than that. It doesn't really do justice to the music to put only the lyrics on the page, so I suggest listening to the album as a whole whenever you get the chance.

_Joyeüx Noël_

Thunder rained down amidst the frolicking snowflakes, the peals of Notre Dame's sonorous bells resonating through the Parisian evening and down to those congregated within her halls. Voices, strings, percussion and the omnipresent bells all fused together into a glorious carol, its power reverberating into the very souls in the cathedral:

"Kyrie among nations  
Kyrie among nations  
Kyrie among nations  
Hear as they ring through the night

Listen to the bells as they ring  
Listen to the message they bring  
Listen to the sound  
As they sing as one voice in the night

Hoping that we'll all understand  
Every dream we have's in our hands  
And for every bell  
May they ring all through the night!"

Applause joined the lingering resonance of the bells, tumbling down the nave in ecstatic bursts. Encores were called for as the cast came out for a bow, and all the children blushed, having never had such an enthusiastic and genuine response to one of their Christmas pageants.

Hiding in the shadows of the transept, Belle heaved a sigh of relief as she sunk down into a pew. The children's Christmas pageant was not exactly thought of as the high point of the Christmas Eve Gala; more often, it was the sort of entertainment that you sort of politely winced your way through, then over-heartily congratulated your child at the end of the play, all the time wondering how such wretched dialogue could ever have willingly flowed from someone's pen.

So it certainly appeared that Ella was setting Belle up for the fall when it was announced that Belle would direct this year's pageant. As Chairwoman of Animasia's Grand Events, Ella had always in years past given the task to Mrs. Darling or one of the godmothers or anyone who didn't mind concocting a saccharine-drenched morality lesson.

This year, however, Ella's wrath chose Belle as director. And it was for no reason less than spite, Belle was quite aware of that. One more thing that the Little Beauty could fail miserably at, directing joining the ranks of teaching and love.

And then Elaine gave Belle a music disc, a "thank you for taking this seriously" present at the end of the last teaching session the human gave. "You're one of the few I'm not worried about going out there," Elaine whispered, and Belle could only nod, knowing the truth in her statement.

"And then a sound filled the night in the cold winter air…"

And Belle knew precisely what the children would do.

When she played the Trans-Siberian Orchestra CD for the children, she watched them grow excited, eyes brightening and heads bobbing in continued approval throughout the CD. They threw themselves into the play, nominating each other for parts, crafting sets, practicing songs.

True, the reverb of an electric guitar coursing through the hallowed halls of Notre Dame may at one time seemed blasphemous. But now, with just a week left before the appearance of Animasia forever redefined the world, the modern chords echoed invitingly, a taste of what was to come.

But a tremble of caution lay in the enticement, and Belle hoped that the story the music held would not be lost to the seated crowd. It was the story that truly differentiated this pageant from all others, for not all endings were happy, and not even Christmas Eve could cure all the ills in that nearing world. Tumbling around the staccato percussion and electronic carols emerged lost souls, nations torn apart under the bleak winter sky, dreams adrift in an old city bar, the tears of a child where she never belonged.

In the ongoing applause, she wasn't entirely sure the message was heard.

Lumiere peeked in, and grinning, approached her. _"Ma belle mademoiselle,"_ he greeted softly, "go out and take a bow."

She shook her head. "This is their show, Lumiere. They earned that." The clapping started to die down, more sporadic but no less expressive. "I'm glad everyone seems to like it."

"He would have liked it."

A surprised, quizzical eyebrow shot up on her forehead. "I doubt that."

"No?"

"The most modern composer we could agree on was Gershwin. He wouldn't have liked this."

"He would have liked that you had done this."

She shrugged, wishing for an entirely different course of dialogue.

It was to be an answered wish as Chip bounded into the sequestered pews, followed closely by a beaming, though rather bedraggled, Wendy. "They're calling for you," she told Belle as Chip tugged her hand.

"Really?"

Chip nodded vibrantly, and Belle watched Lumiere smirk his satisfaction as the two lead her into the spotlight.

New applause spilled out and a chorus of more formal "Bravos!" bellowed into the rafters. As the children surrounding her began their own cheers, Belle stood fully confronted with the audience on the makeshift stage, stupefied that the pageant had produced such an enthusiastic response. Dazed, she offered the crowd an awkward curtsey, then noticed the one woman in the entirety of Notre Dame not clapping.

Belle couldn't help smiling at the obvious displeasure smeared across Ella's face.

Eventually, the clapping died down, people resumed their seats, and Phoebus and Esmeralda took the stage. "Thank you all so much for coming," Esmeralda said, offering the audience a brilliant smile. "And another thank you to Belle and her stu- the children of Animasia for their magnificent Christmas pageant this year."

Phoebus took the rehearsed cue from his wife and continued, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the prelude to the evening is over. You are all invited back to Versailles for a healthy dose of music, dancing, and Gaston's fabulous wassail." Here the young soldier gave a half-smile and mock salute in the direction of Animasia's resident bartender.

A sporadic chorus of cheers went up at the mention of the famous (or infamous, depending on how much one had consumed) brew. Gaston grinned, waved off the cheers and sat a bit straighter in the pew.

"Outside, there are carriages waiting to take you to the entrance of the palace," Esmeralda said, finishing up the instructions. "And for those of you who prefer, the snow is falling, the pathways are lit, and the walk is quite comfortable surrounded by friends. We'll see everyone soon."

A collective groaning of wood echoed as everyone stood, stretched, and shuffled to the doors, some lingering, some rushing.

Gaston meandered his way back to the transept where Belle had returned with the kids, each of them holding five conversations at once with their friends, parents and Belle.

"-didja see me fly-"

"-such a great song-"

"-where is Sarajevo, anyway-"

"-still got pixie dust behind my ear-"

"-brilliant show, much better than last year…oh, sorry, mum-"

"Quite brilliant, my love," Gaston murmured into Belle's ear, sliding up from behind and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Belle turned to face him with an incredulous smile. "You liked it?"

"I did." He sounded genuinely, and amusedly, surprised at himself. "I truly enjoyed your play."

"Their play. And thank you."

"Will you be ready to leave soon?"

"Soon. I just need to put some things in order."

"-and Santa's coming tonight, too-"

"-what'd he bring you last year-"

"-big ol' hunk of zebra chop-"

"-ewwwwwwwww-"

As the children dispersed with their parents, Belle waited until each child was with a guardian before she found Gaston waiting by the entrance. His brows knotted together as she approached. "What's wrong?"

Gaston looked her over. "You're wearing that to the Gala?"

Puzzled that Gaston would be so concerned about her clothing, Belle looked at her ensemble, a simple cream blouse and a russet-colored velvet skirt. "Why not?"

"Well…I seem to recall that you usually dressed up to the nines for the Gala."

"Yes, but that was before I joined the Entourage and discovered that the only thing I'll be wearing for the next six months are ball gowns. So I'm trying to enjoy the last of my last petticoat-free days."

"You could've said something earlier."

Both turned to see Ariel, Eric, Elisa and Goliath entering from the outside doors of the cathedral. Shaking off the snow from her cloak, Ariel's emerald dress fairly billowed out of the folds of the coat, ballooning in waves around her feet. "I feel like a walking circus tent."

Belle grinned. "I would have said something, but Ella would have sunk her talons into you if you'd shown up in something practical."

Elisa rolled her eyes. "Why you two don't leave that coven is beyond me."

"Masochism," Belle dryly retorted. "Why haven't you left for Versailles?"

"There's a line for the carriages, so we figured we'd wait for you and walk," Elisa explained.

"Oh. Thank you."

The six left the slowly dimming cathedral, bypassed the huddled masses waiting for bell-clad sledges and walked down the lamp-lit streets, fluffy wisps of snow gently urging them along. Beyond the rows of glistening houses, the merry tinkle of sleigh bells sang a sprightly soprano to the undercurrent of laughter and the occasional, spontaneous carol.

"Actually," Elisa began, "I know why you're putting up with them." She looked over at Belle. "Eight more months and you're out, right?"

Belle nodded. "UCF begins in August."

"UCF?" Gaston asked, puzzled.

"The University of Central Florida," Belle said quietly.

"That's a college, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, then. Good."

Belle eyed her beau suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn't come, she turned to Elisa and said, "Eight months provided Ella doesn't push me out of a window first."

"She wouldn't do that," Ariel said, frowning.

"I don't know," Elisa retorted. "Did you see her during the ovation? She looked ready to grab Moses' staff and start a beat down with it."

"I would have loved to see the Archdeacon throw her out of the cathedral for committing an act of blasphemy," Belle laughed.

"I'm surprised she even made it into the cathedral without spontaneously combusting," Eric joked.

"Eric!"

"Ariel, it was a joke."

Hardly mollified, Ariel persisted, "What about all the peace and goodwill we're supposed to be spreading tonight?"

Still grinning, Belle asked, "You actually think she meant that when she was on her soapbox last week?"

"_I _mean it."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the last surviving optimist in Animasia."

"Stop it, Eric."

"And that is why Ariel remains a member of the Royal Entourage," Belle concluded for Elisa's unanswered question, her voice regaining sobriety. "She is a good, honorable woman who epitomizes all that a 'Princess' should be. And she's humble enough not to realize it. They need her far more than she needs them."

Ariel looked ready to retort, then paused, thinking long enough for the sound of crunching snow to be audible. "I wish there was a different way to go about this."

"About what?" Elisa asked.

"Integration. It just seems so…forced, I guess."

"Manufactured?" Belle prompted. "Fitting into a preconceived notion not of ourselves?"

"Exactly."

Goliath, Elisa and Eric all failed to comment on this conversation, simply exchanging grim, knowing looks amongst themselves.

Gaston held Belle more tightly, feeling her frustration through her cloak.

Silence snuck into the group, clipping away words that needed to be spoken and carrying them away on the wind. Someone off in the distance began a round of "Carol of the Bells"; additional voices picked up the melody, the harmony, even the very bells of Notre Dame until the Parisian night spilled forth into musical ecstasy. The last tolls carried the group onto the threshold of Versailles.

The Châteaux bustled happily with the holiday commotion flowing through its gilded halls. As the group of six left their coats in the entry hall, different friends called to different faces, dwindling the group down to the original three pairs.

The Hall of Mirrors sparkled in a perfect holiday triad of color as Ariel and Eric entered with Robin and Marian. Gold from the ceiling descended into the emerald of Christmas trees, decked with burgundy garlands and enchanted golden flames, magicked as to never burn a single branch. The mirrors lining the famed salon echoed the gala in massive gilt frames, seemingly doubling the size of the already cavernous room.

"Nice decorations," Eric said, looking around.

Robin laughed. "My friend, you have a truly dizzying capacity for observation."

"Thank you."

Marian glanced over at Robin, nodding his head just to the left. Taking the cue, Marian asked Ariel, "Did we see you walking to Versailles?"

"It was a good night for it."

"Yes it was…but aren't you cold?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Well then," she announced with a bit more flair than needed, "let's get you something warm to drink. You like mulled wine, don't you?"

"Very much."

As Marian led Ariel away to the refreshment table, Eric watched his wife fade into the massive crowd, his smile likewise diminishing. "I hate this," he muttered.

"The secrecy?" Robin asked.

"Yes."

"We'll be able to include her soon, Eric."

"Won't be soon enough."

"Pardon?"

"How would you feel if you had to keep this from Marian?"

Robin paused. "Point taken."

They began walking out of the Hall and into a small sitting room where Elisa, Goliath and Taka were engaged in debate, voices low to not attract attention.

"…so I think Belle can handle this," they heard Elisa finish.

Taka frowned. "You're joking."

"Not really, no. What fault can you possibly find with Belle?"

"Have you forgotten that she's entwined herself to that lamentable gaggle of dunderheads? One mention of the New Kingdom and all of Animasia would know what we're trying to do."

"Taka, that's why we would ask Belle. She would be such an asset to this group- and we're not exactly in a position to be choosy right now."

"On the contrary, Elisa- we have to be selective. Belle is quite possibly the worst candidate as long as she has that hag breathing down her neck. Can you imagine what would happen if Ella found out about our little club?"

"Because none of you would possibly draw suspicion right now," Mufasa said as he entered the room. A deep frown creased his muzzle. "Do you have any idea how much attention you could gather by staying here?"

"We're just talking, Mufasa," Robin defended. "No one would suspect-"

"How often have we all 'hung out' together at a function like this?" Waiting for an answer, Mufasa continued, "Mickey can see you from across the Hall of Mirrors. He would greatly prefer if everyone mingled more."

Talk of the New Kingdom ceased instantly and the freedom fighters gamely meandered out into the festivities. Mufasa and Taka were the last to leave, double-checking the room to ensure no unwanted ears had been listening in. Walking out, Taka asked his brother in a low voice, "Do you really think we'll be able to pull this off?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I refuse to allow any other alternatives. The Pride is at stake. Animasia is at stake. We cannot fail. Merry Christmas, Belle," he finished in a booming voice.

"_Joyeüx Noël_, Mufasa," Belle responded happily. "Are you having a good time?"

"Immensely. This year's pageant was truly spectacular."

"Thank you."

"It was the first year in which the cubs did not have to play sheep. Simba was ecstatic."

Remembering those plays, Belle nodded sympathetically. "I'm very glad he enjoyed it."

"Personally, I felt this year's pageant was somewhat lacking."

Ella had chosen the one moment Belle was left unattended by Gaston to close in for the kill. Pale in an ice-white dress, Ella swept over to her opponent, appraising her. Taka's hackles went up as she neared. "It was quite noticeable that the children did not sing this year. There was prerecorded music instead. Did you not respect the children's talent?"

Belle looked around, puzzled. "Ella, no one's listening to you. Everyone else is…not listening to you. They have much more important things to do than listen to you berate me. But if you are truly interested to know why the children did not sing this year, I'll tell you why: they didn't want to. I gave them that option and they declined. They much preferred working on their acting skills. That is why they didn't sing."

"People still listen to me," Ella said, almost confused that someone would say otherwise."

"They may hear you, madam," Mufasa said, "but they do not care what you say."

Ella peered down at the lion, a cool smile touching her lips. "Ah yes. The cat who has no voice in the future of Animasia. Lovely talking to you all." She swept back into the crowd before another words could be spoken.

Belle watched her leave, shaking her head. "She needs a new hobby."

"Who does?" Gaston asked, returning to Belle's side.

"Our favorite princess. Let's dance."

"Certainly." Gaston nodded at the two lions before leading Belle onto the dance floor. Towards the end of the song, he asked the question he'd been bothered by most of the night: "Why didn't you ever tell me you were thinking about going to college?"

"For some reason, I didn't think you were terribly fond of higher education."

"It's not something I would pursue," Gaston admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand in your way of doing something that's important to you. However…there is one thing that concerns me."

"What's that?"

Clearing his throat after a moment's awkward pause, he answered, "Well, I just want to make sure that your classes aren't going to interfere too much with your newlywed bliss."

Belle stopped dancing. "…newlywed?"

Gaston stopped as well, and taking her hands into his, continued, "Belle, I love you. I have loved you for years. And I will love you forever." As the strings faded away into their last stanza, Gaston dropped to one knee and asked, "Will you marry me, Belle?"

She felt her jaw drop, very ungraciously, very un-princess-like.

He was doing this _now_?

Now, in front of the whole of Animasia?

Why not back at the cottage, in front of the smoldering hearth, just the two of them, snuggled in for the winter's eve? Why not outside in the gardens, quiet, snow-whispers cheering them on, beneath the silver-tinged branches and ice-carved cherubim? Why not in the library…?

…because there was no library proposal in this fairy tale. That was another story, another age, another lifetime ago.

She was not living a fairy tale.

She was living her life.

And she suddenly realized why humans so loved fairy tales.

"Yes," she whispered.

Yes, she would marry him.

Yes, she would be his wife.

Yes, they would live…

…happily…?

…ever…

…after…

…and…

…ever…

…and…

…ever…

"Yes," Belle said, a firm declaration that belied her inner discord. "I'll marry you."

A ring appeared on her hand, some sort of excessively large stone that she barely had time to look at before she and Gaston were swarmed by well-wishers with congratulatory words, handshakes, hugs.

A momentary lull in the bestowing of happy sentiments provided Elisa with enough time to zag across the dance floor and clasp Belle's arm. "We need to talk."

"Elisa-"

"Now."

As Elisa dragged Belle off to a quieter room, Lumiere strode up to Gaston. "If I may have a moment, _monsieur_."

Expecting this, Gaston nodded and they began to walk away from the crowds. "First, let me congratulate you. Belle is an outstanding young woman."

"I know."

"Let me also say that she is still extremely important to us. Despite the fact that she no longer lives in the castle, I have never stopped thinking of her as my mistress. Her welfare is tantamount. Therefore, if you do not take good care of her…"

As the threat hung between the two men, Gaston's mouth twitched upwards into a sneer. "You'll what?"

Lumiere set his jaw rigidly, biting back everything that he dearly wanted to say. "Take good care of her."

"Look, buddy- did you honestly think I would harm my wife? Unlike some people, I know you don't hit a lady. Now get this through your waxy little ears- Belle chose me. Not your precious _Master_. Not that hairball of a coward who won't even show his face. Me. It's over."

The anger that flashed into Lumiere's eyes was considerable enough that Gaston's self-confidence wavered. "If I thought that my actions would not cause Belle distress, _monsieur_, I would pummel you for your audacity. But I will keep my peace and honor my lady's wishes until the day you two are wed. I pray that you will do the same afterwards."

The tension between the two men may vary well have resulted in a horrific round of fisticuffs had Mickey not stepped over to offer his congratulations to Gaston. Lumiere excused himself as Mickey was asking the date of the wedding.

"October. Fall is an excellent time for a wedding."

"Anytime's a good time for a wedding, Gaston," Mickey laughed. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you."

After shaking hands, Mickey took a meandering route over to Minnie, who was watching the floor with a slightly distracted veil over her eyes. "Are you leaving?" she whispered.

Mickey nodded. "I'll be back soon."

"The basket's by the vault."

"Thanks, Min."

Stealing away from Versailles during the heart of the Gala was not at all a difficult task. The happy chaos that spilled out into the many chambers of the Châteaux provided a far better camouflage than Mickey could have produced himself.

The footprints he tracked quickly covered themselves as he neared The Palace. Under the layers of snow, the headquarters of the New Kingdom glowed as he approached, a crystal citadel bathed in the light of the emerging half-moon.

Just as she'd said, Minnie had left the basket by the front of the vault. Picking up the wicker weave, Mickey started for the Silent Chamber, then paused, remembering. He had grown to hate it, hate the power that it contained, but…he still needed it. At the very least, it wouldn't hurt to have it, especially now.

He looked at the vault, a simple column of perpetual flames, and reached into the fire, knowing that the heat would never damage his hands. What the enchanted fire might do to someone else was better left to ponder in nightmares. When he withdrew from the vault, he held a simple, slightly battered old hat, stitched with the darkness of late twilight and the light of the moon and the stars. Tucking the hat underneath his arm, Mickey began his annual trek to Toontown.

The Silent Chamber was the one of the few parts in the Palace Mickey had forbidden anyone else from entering. It wasn't a matter of trust; Mickey would have staked his life on the honor of those few members of the New Kingdom. Rather, it was to spare them the burden of memory, of regret. Upon the walls of the long corridor hung the tragic Moments, time etched in the fabric of suffering: the final breaths of the greatest man Mickey had ever known, the Toontown feud, the Night of Dissension, the destruction of Chernabog…

Mickey tightened his grip on the Sorcerer's hat as he walked past the tapestries, eyes fixed determinedly on the mirror at the end of the hall. It was a plain, rectangular piece of glass simply set into a depression the wall, no fanciful shapes, no ornate trim, no expansive vista of reflection.

It was the most dangerous object in Animasia.

Christmas basket in one hand, talisman in the other, Mickey stepped through the mirror.

Once upon a time, far too long ago, the mirror had been a doorway to a neighbor. Friends walked back and forth between magical boundaries, time and space warping around this little fissure in reality for the benefit of an otherwise lonely handful of souls.

Then the jealousy began.

Then the anger.

Then the hate.

The inhabitants of Toontown destroyed themselves, and all Mickey could do was seal the gateway between Animasia and Toontown to stave off the obliteration Bugs had allowed in his home from reaching Mickey's kin. Until the Night of Dissension, it had seemed to be a pretty good plan.

Standing figuratively on the edge of radical change for Animasia and literally in the middle of cracked plain of dead and dying scrub, the barricade seemed an entirely moot point now.

Save for one minor detail.

"So…_doc_…you come to collect those numbskulls you dropped off here?"

Bugs Bunny slowly rose halfway out of his burrow, aged fur mottled and patchy, ears drooping, voice scratchy with bitterness. The toll of the Feud had battered and beaten him almost to the point of non-recognition. It hadn't quite killed him though.

Not yet.

"It's Christmas Eve, Bugs. Minnie cooked some stuff up for you."

Bugs glared at the Mouse tiredly. "Smarmy old rat." He eyed the basket, trying to look past the holly-print cloth on top. "She made those cakes again?"

Mickey nodded, stepping closer, feeling the charade lessening. "With the last of this season's carrots."

"And that relish?"

"Two jars."

Bugs grunted a sort of assent. "Can I see?"

"Help yourself."

While Bugs rummaged around the basket, pulling out all sorts of carrot-enhanced delicacies, Mickey scanned the murky horizon, waiting for the Exiles to appear.

"They don't come round too much anymore," Bugs said as he opened a glass of chutney. "Think it's high time you take them back."

"'Indeterminate exile' usually means longer than two years, Bugs. They're staying put here."

"Thought you'd say that. Fine, keep your trash here." The rabbit pulled out a cellophane-wrapped package of brown specks. "What the hell are these?"

"Carrot seeds. Minnie thought that maybe you could plant some…"

Mickey's voice trailed off as Bugs eyes shifted into focus for the first time that night, blazing with a fire too long burning to ever extinguish. "Nothing grows here anymore, Mick. You know that."

"You could try-"

"The ground's dead, Mick. So're all the people who used to live here. Since you're the one who killed them, you should remember that."

It was the same attack for years now. "I didn't kill them, Bugs- they did a very good job themselves. One day, you'll stop blaming me for their deaths."

"I'll blame you for however the hell long I like. You're a stuck-up, sanctimonious old bastard who could have done something-"

"I tried, Bugs," Mickey bit back, surprised at how raw the argument still felt. "You never listened."

"Go to hell. You wrote the four of them off like you wrote off everyone else in Toontown."

Despite the nonsensical nature of the statement, there was an unsettling comment that Mickey needed pursued. "What do you mean, four?"

"That number that follows three."

"Not funny, Bugs."

Bugs just shrugged. "I've only seen four. Queenie, Maleficent, that dark, skinny guy with the twisted beard, and the big, blustery fella."

Unsettling comment turning into dread. "What about Puck?"

"Who?"

"He's smaller, kinda pale, a little scrawny…?"

"Never seen 'im."

"Maybe he's hiding or something-"

"Mick…you only came in with four. When they woke up, they started howlin' at each other, then started howling about…oh yeah. Now I remember. I heard 'em cussing up a storm that the other guy- he musta slipped away. Tough breaks, Mick."

Mickey stared at Bugs, dumfounded. "And you never told me this before?!"

Another shrug. "Musta slipped my mind. Thanks for the goodies." And he disappeared into the darkness of the rabbit hole.

"Wait a minute, Bugs-!"

Silence followed, punctuated by a greedy crunch of carrot.

No way.

Not possible.

Bugs had to be lying.

Just a great joke, meant to work Mickey up into a tizzy and then reveal the whole thing as a massive prank.

Except Bugs didn't joke anymore.

There wasn't any prankster left in the old hare, just a consuming animosity towards Mickey that would love to see him get knocked off his pedestal. What better way than to casually mention one of Animasia's greatest rabble-rousers had been on the lam for two years?

Bugs wasn't lying. There was nothing to gain from a lie.

But the truth…the truth was everything.

Mickey didn't even remember leaving the Palace, trekking back to Versailles and finding Minnie. Her startled expression was just enough to snap Mickey out of his daze and quietly tell her, "We have a problem."

Fortunately, no one was to be burdened with such information on such an excellent evening.

Excellent for some, anyway.

"She is a traitor."

"Shut up, Cogsworth."

"I most certainly will not-"

"Yes, you will," Lumiere hissed. "Her father's right behind you."

As Cogsworth famously sputtered his embarrassment, Lumiere rolled his eyes. Versailles lay behind them now, though music could still be heard pulsing through the dark. In recognition of Belle's engagement, someone had found the pageant music, which was playing inside the Châteaux when the servants left to return to their castle.

Chip was already asleep in his mother's arms when they arrived, silent, for no one was eager to perform the task that had to be accomplished. After staring at each other with no resolution in sight, Lumiere finally shrugged and wordlessly started up the stairs to the West Wing.

The Master was still awake, sitting at his writing desk in his study. Surrounding him lay volumes of masterworks, Shakespeare, Milton, Lewis, books Lumiere and Cogsworth had retrieved innumerable times.

The Master would not step foot into the library.

Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, Lumiere coughed slightly, catching Beast's attention. "Good evening, sire."

Beast nodded, grinned. "Good evening, Lumiere. How was the Gala?"

"It…was enjoyable," he lied. After a beat, he continued, "Something occurred that you should know about."

"And what is that?"

"Master…Belle has chosen to wed."

Lumiere waited for the shock, the outrage, the uncontrollable fury that he was sure would consume his Master, finally snap him out of his years-long stupor, storm out of the castle and into the village, find Belle and win her back.

Except…

Nothing.

Just the infuriating, demeaning acceptance that clung to him like a pestilence. He remained at his desk, his pen hovering in mid-stroke. "To whom?"

"_Monsieur_ Gaston."

"I see." The quill of the pen began scratching once more, sharp, staccato jottings unlike his usual, languid scrawl. "Did she look happy, Lumiere?"

He wanted to lie. He wanted to paint a horrendous picture of how unhappy she was, how miserable she looked, that it was only her unfathomable pity for the wretch that caused her to do this.

But it wasn't.

And he couldn't.

"Yes, your highness."

A nod.

That was it.

A nod.

The final surrender to the fate Beast had long ago realized as the only ending possible to this story.

"Good night, my friend."

Lumiere began his customary bow, stopped. "Sire, if I may be so bold-"

"You may not."

Hearing a growl in the undertone of the command, Lumiere knew to stop. A complete bow, a quiet, "Merry Christmas, sire," and he was gone.

Beast listened to Lumiere's hastened footfalls disappear down the long staircase, the empty castle swallowing sound. His notes suddenly and completely irrelevant, Beast picked himself up from his desk and took careful, measured strides to his bedroom. He would not react. He would not let his might betray his mind and fall into unnecessary theatrics. He would simply verify that Lumiere had indeed told him the truth.

Not there was any reason to believe otherwise.

The Mirror lay on the rosewood chantry beside the arch to the balcony; he saw the moonlight skipping off the polished surface across the room. Even as he prepared to use it, he hesitated. When Belle first left the castle, he knew how easy it would be to watch over her with the mirror, and how quickly the device could be unintentionally abused. He abstained from its use, teaching himself how to live without her.

But then there were times…

"Belle."

The mirror cackled, Beast's reflection melting away into a sea of people, finally resting upon Belle.

Lovely, sacred Belle.

She was beaming.

At Gaston.

Beast could not hear what words they were saying to each other; there was loud, cluttered music mercifully playing over whatever they might have been cooing to each other. The date of the wedding, perhaps. New promises, fond memories, discreet innuendo that heightened the blush in her cheeks.

He set the mirror back down on the table and paced out to the balcony. He did not feel the coldness of the snow as it clung to the fur on his paws, did not see the diamond-and-coal valley below. All he tried to do was not remember, a task he was doomed to fail.

The mirror kept the scene it had been asked to reveal as no one had commanded it to stop. Into the night spilled song, juxtaposed horribly with a fairy tale that dabbled too long in reality.

Come, Christmas  
Stay, Christmas  
Watch over her this day  
Keep her  
Protect her  
From harm now in every way

Shelter her  
Gently  
There in your arms she'll be  
Until the day  
When you  
Bring her back home to me

There is an ornament lost inside the night


	11. Revelation 21:8

Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…

Revelation 21:8

_"This is an ABC Breaking News Bulletin…joining us now live from the Magic Kingdom at The Walt Disney World Resort in Orlando, Florida…and just to remind our viewers that The Walt Disney Company is the parent company of ABC News…"_

_-ABC affiliates, 8:01 AM, January 1, 2000_

* * *

_"…The Disney Company has been in the business of making dreams come true. Last night, a different kind of dream came true. In the spirit of camaraderie and brotherhood, the whole world watched together as an old millennium slipped away to be replaced by a new one, a new horizon brimming with ideas, hopes, and dreams. We were one world united, moving forward now as one people._

_"As this morning dawns, another dream is about to come true. An old dream, one that had to wait years before its time came. A dream shared by many, with one common desire. It is a dream that Walt Disney himself tried to make true, but was unable to see to its completion._

_"Disney World was only the first part of that dream, a place for families to come together and experience a magic that doesn't exist elsewhere. It is that magic that brings us here this morning, for a new purpose in a new era._

_"Ladies and gentlemen of the world, I am honored and pleased to present to you Mickey and Minnie Mouse, the first residents of Animasia…and their many friends…"_

_-Nicholas Misner, speaking from the "Animasia Introduction" speech cards, Magic Kingdom, Orlando, Florida, 8:14 AM, January 1, 2000_

* * *

_We are not alone: Mickey Mouse and Co. real-life people and "not mere pencil drawings," Walt Disney CEO Nicholas Misner announces at press conference inside the Magic Kingdom._

_-CNN News ticker, 8:19 AM, January 1, 2000_

* * *

Laughter.

Joyful, giddy, exuberant laughter filled the Town Hall, a happiness so overwhelming it could be felt, riding on the merry pulses of sound that swept high through the rafters.

"Did you see their faces?"

"They were so surprised-"

"I shook hands with one of them!"

"What do you think they were writing?"

"Maybe we should have stayed out there longer, do you think…"

"Did you feel the sun? It was so glorious."

"It was all so…so _magical…_"

The Town Hall hummed in the voices of all of Animasia, an ecstatic frenzy of joy and excited confusion. Kingdoms compared notes with each other, relating things that they might have missed on the brief journey into the human world. Friends shared the minutiae and the grand, from human clothing to the scent of the air, sweetened with freedom and the day's first batch of Main Street's chocolate chip cookies.

Mickey stood upon the raised platform in the front of the hall, silently watching, still as a shadow. Everything had gone perfectly so far, from what he could see- Misner's introduction of the Animasians at the foot of the Castle, the delighted reaction of a usually jaded press corp., the parade of Kingdoms as they each took a turn to reveal themselves to the world…

Where was that other shoe, perched so readily to fall?

Where was Puck, leading a charge of revenge against the whole of Animasia with the world finally watching?

When would Misner start acting like himself again, rather than a poor imitation of the benign founder of the company?

Why was he doing this to himself, making himself sick with worry over things he couldn't possibly change?

"Mickey?"

Minnie stood in front of him, a concerned smile on her lips. "Still with us?"

A very slow, thoughtful nod. "What did we just get ourselves into, Min?"

She never got a chance to answer his question as that was the precise moment when Nicholas Misner arrived.

The amount of ecstasy and jubilation that ricocheted through the Hall could not have been magnified even if Walt himself dropped down on a cloud with a host of artistically-inspired seraphim at his disposal. The name of Nicholas Misner was chanted and cheered, praised and thanked as the man walked up to the podium where Mickey and Minnie were standing. Flanked by several yes men, Misner's troupe immediately overshadowed the two Mice as they were shuffled into the anonymity of the background.

Almost no one seemed to notice.

Misner let the applause continue for several minutes, a self-satisfied smile riding the corners of his mouth. With a grand sweep of his arm, her raised his voice and announced, "Happy New Year, one and all!"

The second round of applause was deafening.

When it subsided the second time, Misner began some speech that Mickey had no intention of listening to. Rather, he was more concerned about getting away from the podium with Minnie until he heard the sentence that he had been waiting for:

"These are your schedules."

Thunk.

There went the other shoe.

"Each Kingdom can refer to the daily postings here at the Town Hall. There, you will see what park you are to be expected at, as well at what times. These will be your chances to finally meet the world you were hidden from for so long. Your counselors will help you in any way they can, should you have any questions.

"We look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Congratulations again." At that, Misner left the stage to more applause, though a sort of confusion mingled into the percussive ovation. Surrounded by his troupe of business-attired goons, Misner cut a quick, direct path through the sea of people and out the door.

Mickey ran.

He darted through the crowd, out of the Town Hall and into the square. "Nicholas!"

"Not now, Mickey."

"Yes, now!"

"What?"

"What are you doing?" Mickey demanded, dodging the quick feet of the many lackeys.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb, Nick- you never said a word about turning us into a park attraction."

Misner finally paused his brisk strides, then turned to face down the Mouse. "All right, look at it this way- do you really think they can just waltz on out onto the streets now? That-poof! - they're here and everyone's going to treat them like normal people?"

"So you're turning us into a sideshow instead?"

"Good lord, Mickey, calm down. Don't you see that this is the best way to handle things right now? They'll get to meet the public in a safe, controlled environment. And they're getting paid for it. No one's stopping them from exploring the world on their own, either. It's just…well, you know that the world at large isn't a terribly forgiving place, don't you?"

"Meaning?"

"They're going to have to be careful. They know this, even if they don't realize it yet. You knew it all along…why weren't you so loud about it then?"

The words _They didn't want to listen_ failed to reach Mickey's tongue.

"See you tomorrow, Mickey." Misner waved him off, but this time, Mickey didn't feel like following. Lead seemed to have crept into his feet, and he remained rooted to the spot, seething in futility, cursing his lack of foresight.

He wondered how long it would take before the Town Square became just another patch of withered grass, mirroring the desolation of the once vibrant Toontown.

* * *

_The turning of an old millennium into a new one is a rare enough occurrence that one should be able to excuse the reckless abandon with which many humans felt obliged to as 1999 careened into the year 2000. For many, it was simply a legitimate reason to get drunk, while to others, a time to celebrate the unity that often was not shared beyond borders. Some even feared this turning of numbers, believing that either a spiritual or mechanical apocalypse rode upon the nearing horizon._

_And to one rather unique group, this was a year in which a new era hopefully dawned bright in the pale Floridian morning._

_All this in mind, it was a world that had barely recovered from its collective hangover when Animasia entered reality._

_Curiously enough, it was ABC News who first reported the goings-on in Orlando, breaking into its "One Saturday Morning" cartoon lineup with…cartoons. Or so it first appeared. And then CNN, of all places, began reporting a strange event that was taking place inside Walt Disney World's Magic Kingdom, puzzled anchors not fully understanding what their on-site reporter was telling them. Even that venerable bastion of serious discourse and information, NPR, began interrupting its stalwart "Car Talk" to bring its bleary eyed listeners up-to-date with this completely unexpected phenomena:_

_Toons._

_That moniker from "Who Framed Roger Rabbit" appeared on every newscaster's lips when describing the scene taking place outside Cinderella's Castle. Beneath its cerulean spires, a parade of some of the best-known characters the planet over emerged, traipsing before a handful of stunned reporters._

_It seemed like a joke at first. No one knew why they were being summoned to the Magic Kingdom for a press conference at 8AM New Year's Day. The happenings at a theme park hardly qualified for earth shattering news. Yet, Nicholas Misner's PR staff was persistent enough to warrant an intern and a camera from the major networks, as they kept promising an excellent conclusion the New Year festivities._

_At 8 AM precisely, Misner took to a podium set up before the drawbridge of the Castle. He didn't say anything particularly inspired: Disney World was founded in magic, dreams come true, the same tired line from a middle aged man who believed in pixie dust with the same fervor he believed in the generosity of the human heart. Which was not much._

_And then Mickey Mouse appeared._

_"There was something odd about the perspective we all had when we first saw him," Bryce Conner, NBC's intern/reporter would comment later on the "Today" show. "We were all expecting that big costumed mouse that usually comes out for press gatherings like this, but this one, we could all tell, was really short. He just appeared under the arch and started walking towards us. As he got closer, we could all tell that it wasn't just a perspective thing- he was really short. And his skin wasn't made of that rubber stuff- it was moving. And then Jaime over there, she asked if this was some kind of new audio, uh, audio-animatronic thing. And then he started talking to us, and we all knew at that moment something really big was happening."_

_Indeed._

_-Chatterbox Editorial, Slate Magazine On-line Periodical, posted 9:35 AM, January 1, 2000_

* * *

As soon as the first star appeared in the January sky, fireworks arced over the whole of Animasia, streaking the night with enchanted flames. The magic folk had summed up all their creative energies and promised a celebratory performance the likes of which had never been seen, from Agrabah to Atlantis.

Eric didn't pay much attention to the dancing explosions as he walked along the beach, looking for Ariel. He wasn't too surprised that she was running late from talking with her father- she was a bit scatterbrained that way- but her apprehension of upsetting key members of the Entourage usually kept her minding the time more diligently.

When he found her, he knew something was wrong. Even way off in the distance, he knew that something was not well with his wife. She sat on the shore, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, looking off in the distance. Usually when talking to her father, Ariel would stand in the waves, even on frigid evenings- the coldness never bothered her. But Triton was nowhere to be found. And the buoyancy that radiated off her earlier in the morning had fallen away. He hastened his footsteps.

She watched him walk up to her without a word. "Ariel?" he asked softly.

Her pink gown spread over the sands, grains puddling in the creases of fabric. "I told Daddy about today."

Eric nodded, very worried now at the distant tone in her voice.

"Why did I have to tell him, Eric? Why couldn't he have been there? And my sisters? And Ursula and Flounder and…they forgot about them. Brian promised me he'd remember them and he forgot about them."

She wasn't crying, but her words wracked with helplessness and frustration. He hated, hated, hated seeing her this way. And there was only one way he knew he could help her.

"Come with me."

"I know, I know, we're running late-"

"No, not that. Don't even think about that yet. Later tonight, after the party, there's someplace that I want to take you to."

"Where? On the Outside?"

"No, it's here. Trust me on this and don't ask any questions just yet. Trust me."

"I do."

"Okay." He smiled at her, stroking her cheek. "The world's waiting for you."

She returned the smile. "Then we shouldn't keep them waiting any longer."

Overhead, pixie dust rained down amid petals of fire blossoms as they walked hand in hand off the shore.

* * *

_What must it have been like for them?_

_Knowing how beloved they were, and never getting to experience that love?_

_Never seeing the face of a child light up at the mere mention of their names?_

_Details on Animasia are still sketchy at best, but the fact remains that, however grand their home may have been, they were still prisoners. A gilded cage, to be sure, but a cage nonetheless._

_Why did Walt keep making cartoons if he knew that sentient beings would be the end result? It denigrates him to a Frankenstein-like creator, uncaring that his project wielded such a miracle._

_Of course, I never knew Walt Disney, but the fact remains that he left behind hundreds of people who needed something he had no intention of providing. What kind of genius have we been celebrating all this time?_

_-S. Eden, Editorial, The Detroit Free Press, published January 2, 2000_

* * *

Belle hated wearing the dress.

It was a gorgeous dress.

She just couldn't stand it.

As the gold silk rustled at her heels, she wondered again how she had let her common sense be waylaid and was now stuck with the Entourage, wearing a dress that was unequivocally associated with a closed chapter of her life…and an event that had never even occurred in her experience.

She stood at the mirror in the front room of the cottage, playing with a brush and a barrette in an attempt to get her "look" right. As her hair parted unevenly for the fourth time, she remembered why ponytails were her preferred hairstyle. A rap on the door signaled that her preparations should have been over by now. "Come in," she called out.

Gaston entered, carrying a small parcel in his hands. Closing the door behind him, he stopped in mid-stride upon seeing his fiancée. "You look beautiful," he breathed.

She smiled ruefully at his reflection in the mirror, gathering her hair up for another try. "Thank you. Brian wouldn't agree, but I value your opinion far more than that of Mr. Brian Alder."

"And for that, I am relieved. Are you ready?"

"Just…about…yes," she concluded, deciding that this mildly crooked 'do was the best she could manage. In earlier days, Babette or even Mrs. Potts would have nimbly woven her hair, but those days had long since passed. "Let me grab my cloak."

When she returned, Gaston held the present out to her. "What's this?"

"Open it and see."

Laying her cloak down on a chair, she took the parcel and gingerly opened it. Laying in a small cellophane box was an orchid corsage, not one from the gardens of Animasia, but from the Outside, an intensely violet bloom striking against the gold of her dress. "It's gorgeous…how did you get it?"

"Alder ordered it for me," Gaston explained as he slipped it over one of her gloved hands. "I was relieved that he didn't change the order to roses or something else."

"Thank you," she said, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. He surprised her by catching her on the mouth, holding her there. His hands slowly, so slowly began tracing the curvature of her back, pulsing down her spine in gentle, rhythmic strokes, finally resting on the scoop of dress. He plucked lightly at the buttons, teasing, until two popped out of their eyelets.

"You are getting ahead of yourself," Belle murmured, breaking the kiss and batting away at his wandering hands.

"No, I knew where I was going."

Re-buttoning the dress, Belle sighed. "That's what the wedding night's for, dear. You want Ella to have some genuine ammunition against me?" she laughed.

Gaston didn't. "You let her intimidate you too much."

"She doesn't intimidate, she annoys. Let's go."

They walked quickly out of Lyons and to the Town Square where the Door opened for them as they passed. Being of a magical sort of door, it had many entryways scattered across the Resort and even over to Anaheim, should the situation warrant it. Tonight, they were merely headed for the tunnels below the Magic Kingdom, the same sojourn they had made earlier that day for their big revelation.

They met a rather somber Ariel and Eric at the staircase leading up to the restaurant in the Castle where the reception was taking place. "Are you all right?" Belle asked Ariel as they climbed the spiraling stairs.

"Of course," she replied as Eric shook his head behind her.

"Well, if this is a horrifically boring affair, we'll just play hooky from now on, and let Ella be sanctimonious by herself."

"I heard that."

Ella glared down at Belle coolly from the stair landing. "On the most important, the most glorious day of Animasia's history, you're belittling your peers. Have you no tact?"

"Apparently not, nor does that bother me as your definition of tact seems to be completely relative."

"Do you hear what she puts me through!" Ella exclaimed to a shadow on her right. The shadow turned, revealing her husband who was obviously trying to hide a smirk. "Actually, dear, you can be a little self-righteous at times," he said, desperately swallowing his grin.

The princess turned a few shades paler than her silver dress, then stormed off without another word. As soon as she was gone, the prince started laughing. "Sorry about that. As I'm sure you know, she can be rather trying."

"Good to see you, John," Gaston greeted, shaking hands with the prince as they filed past him.

Still backstage, they could hear the sounds of people in the restaurant the wall over, talking, clinking wine glasses, laughing. The restaurant, coincidentally named "Cinderella's Royal Table," had been closed that evening to the public to allow a group of Misner's friends and Hollywood allies a chance to mingle with the leading ladies of Animasia. The guests just hadn't known it at the time, assuming Misner had invited them down to Orlando for a post-New Year's Eve gathering.

The rest of the Entourage stood outside a set of double doors, waiting for their introduction. Aurora and Snow chatted about plans for the rest of the week, while Jasmine kept trying to get Aladdin to keep his feather-tipped hat on.

"It's uncomfortable, Jasmine!" he kept futilely protesting as she'd mash it back onto his head.

"Then you should have combed your hair!"

Brian Alder appeared from the front, quickly closing the door behind him, tittering and clucking like a mother hen. "Wonderful, wonderful, you're all here now, looks like we can take places in just a minute and- Gaston. You're here. Why?"

Mustering all the patience he could, Gaston answered in a measured tone, "I'm escorting my fiancée to her gathering."

In one breath, Brian rushed, "You're getting married? Congratulations! That's wonderful news. Gaston, may I have a word with you, please?"

After a stiff nod, Gaston followed Brian around a corner and into a small storage room. "I need to be level with you," Brian said in a low voice. "You can't be with her right now."

Even under the layers of linen and suede, the man could see pounds of muscle tensing, and a glowering, exasperated glare rained down on him. "She is going to be my wife! What the hell is so hard about this?"

"Nothing, Gaston. That's excellent, I'm happy for the both of you, _mazel tov_," he said brusquely. He paused, regaining composure and thinking carefully of his next statement. "You know the constant tongue lashings Ella's been giving her? That's what the world will do to her if you go out into that room with her at your side."

"And why is that?"

"Look…humans are going to have a pretty specific idea of who you all are, everyone from Animasia. They've seen your films so they're going to immediately assume they know you."

"Like you did," Gaston interjected coldly.

"I learned," Brian said. "And they will, too. But not if you force a change on them immediately. Humans…change is hard for them."

"And it's not too easy on us, is it?"

"Change never is."

Gaston looked down on the little man, consternation deepening his scowl. "I don't like you."

"I don't really care. But Gaston, if you truly love Belle, you'll stay away for right now."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. Just the truth."

"Tell me something, then, Alder. Why are you making her face them if they could hurt her?"

Brian looked genuinely remorseful. "That's what humans are like. This is the world you wanted to join. It's not too different, is it?"

After a fearful moment of silence, Gaston left without another word, swinging the door wide. Though perhaps more angry than he'd ever been in his life, he was extremely, almost disconcertingly calm when he beckoned Belle to him. "I want you to have a good time tonight," he murmured.

She looked at him, thunderstruck. "What did he tell you?"

"This is your night, Belle. Our night will be later."

"You're not leaving!"

With every ounce of courage he could muster, he gave her a sad little smile. "A villain doesn't belong in the midst of heroes, not yet anyway. I'll be waiting for you tonight at the cottage."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Belle-"

"Can I say something?" Brian asked, poking his head between them.

The calm face rapidly fell apart. "Butt out."

Ignoring him, Brian pressed on. "Belle, listen, you are worth more to us than the lot of them combined."

"And that makes me feel so much better," she retorted angrily.

"If you stay tonight, I promise this won't happen again. Ever."

"Darling, just stay and enjoy yourself. You've waited so long for this."

"We both have."

"It's just for tonight, Belle," Brian reiterated.

She looked up at Gaston, reading his eyes. He nodded, and her shoulders slumped. "Fine," she muttered, shaking her head. "Fine."

Alder beamed as they both ignored him. "Thank you, Belle, thank you."

She said nothing, even as Gaston kissed her good night. Absently stroking the delicate orchid petals, she watched him leave, vaguely aware that the entire Entourage was straining to listen in on the conversation. Silently she walked back to the cluster, counting the seconds for the next barb to come stinging out.

Eleven and a half. "I would have almost believed your theatrics if you had followed him. Please do."

"Ella, stop it."

Everyone looked up in surprise as the admonition came from Aurora. "It's getting old."

Obviously stunned, Ella stood gawking at the fair princess through the Entourage's introduction. Hearing her screen name announced, she snapped back into her photogenic poise and walked into the entranceway, into the restaurant bearing her name.

"It'll be okay," Ariel whispered to Belle, squeezing her hand before she too disappeared into the limelight.

When Belle's name was called, she wondered if she should go out after all. She _should_ just follow Gaston back to Animasia and wait for tomorrow when all the Kingdoms would be equally received, as opposed to a select few. She really didn't have any reason to be here; why bother with this now? Tomorrow, after waiting for years, wasn't that far away.

And yet, the applause grew louder.

And appeasing her curiosity had always been a weak spot.

She took a hesitant step forward, then another, finally arriving on the dais in front of a slew of wildly clapping humans. The scene took her breath away: a vaulted chamber dressed in warm shades of vermillion cloth and a large stain-glass window overlooking Fantasyland while one fantasy was made true. The clusters of people kept applauding, some actually whistling, calling Belle's name. Stunned, she demurely slipped off to the side where the other princesses stood, waiting for Jasmine's name to be called.

The emcee who had presented them was not Nicholas Misner. Rather, the CEO waited by the Entourage, looking fairly paternal. Once all had been introduced, Misner began to privately introduce them to several people in attendance while the rest of the partygoers mingled. Finally, the eleven were allowed to interact without adhering to a script, walking into the crowd like equals.

That was the idea, anyway.

"Omigawd, I've always loved that dress!"

Belle politely smiled as a too-tanned, too-skinny young woman began talking to her. "Thank you."

"That's like, the best dress ever! God, I wish I could have one."

_Here,_ Belle thought mischievously, wondering just what would happen if she began to disrobe in the middle of restaurant. Instead of giving the public relations team a massive headache, Belle simply suggested, "Have you ever talked to someone about making you one?"

The woman's eyes widened. "That's a great idea! I'm going to go talk to Merchandising right now! Thanks!"

As the vapid young woman left in a whirlwind, Belle could only shake her head, hoping that her next conversation would be more enlightening.

It wasn't. An older, rather rotund gentleman approached her this time, giving her a little bow, lightly tripping over himself in the process. "Good evening, young lady."

"Good evening, _monsieur._"

"I noticed that you entered the hall alone. Is there something wrong with your companion?"

"He…wasn't able to come."

"Ah. Unfortunate for him, but how fortunate for us."

_Us?_

"May I offer you some companionship this evening?"

Thinking quickly, Belle offered, "Thank you, sir, but I should not neglect all the other guests tonight."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he sighed. "But if you are ever left alone again, please do look me up." He handed her a small business card, bowed again, tripped, and shuffled back into the throng. Once out of sight, Belle crumpled the piece of paper and looked for some sort of waste receptacle.

The evening proceeded in much the same manner. Introductions, polite questions, smiles, nothing said worth the price paid for admittance.

A brief respite came when Aurora slid up to Belle, handing her a glass of merlot. "Thank you," Belle said, still a little wary, though accepting the drink.

"Ella can be a bit much," Aurora explained after a pause.

"You noticed."

"She really was a good person."

"Was."

"I don't know why she fixated on you."

"That makes two of us."

Aurora looked at Belle, her blue gown highlighting her pale visage. "I've never enjoyed the children's pageants until this year. You really did a good job."

"Thank you."

They regarded each other for a moment longer before Misner came to sweep them away for less stimulating conversation.

At one point, Belle thought she might be on the verge of a communication breakthrough. She was talking to a young couple, and the course of conversation had wound itself to the president's address that night. Seeing this as a logical jumping point, Belle asked excitedly, "So who do you think will win the party elections?"

Both eyed their mate in askance. "We were supposed to vote on something tonight?"

"No," she laughed, praying they weren't being serious. "The Democratic and Republican parties. Who do you think will get the nomination? I'm very excited that this year happens to be a year that the nation gets to elect a new president."

The same blank stare. "It is?"

"Yes…in November…I believe…"

"That's this year?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, then. Don't really pay too much attention."

"To your nation's politics?"

"It's boring."

"Ah."

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, the woman asked, "So, where's Beast?"

"He's shy."

The answer did not come from Belle. She turned her head to see Brian standing next to her, looking as though he's just stated the weather. "It's the crowds, you see."

"Oh," the couple collectively nodded. Looking disappointed, they bade good-bye and went off to find another princess to bore.

"He's shy?" Belled demanded, bristling at the thought. "You've never even met him!"

"They don't know that. And they don't have to know that, either." Letting the comment hand, Brian slipped away, leaving a thoroughly infuriated Belle.

"You're not getting the best humanity has to offer tonight."

Belle looked up to see a graying matron, her long, loose-fitting gown a radical departure from all the flesh-grabbing fashions around the room. Clear green eyes appraised Belle with compassion and sympathy. She had a grounded sense to her that seemed sorely lacking among the crowd.

Refraining from cynicism, Belle asked politely, "No?"

"Oh, dear lord, honey, no. Half these folks wouldn't know a politician from a polliwog, and the half that did would be hitting them both up for money. I'm surprised you haven't been asked for any favors yet."

"I think I may have," Belle laughed.

"You didn't agree to it, whatever it was, did you?"

"No. It seemed to have been made in the midst of serious inebriation."

"Drunk like a skunk, was he?"

Belle laughed again, slipping off some of the clouds that had gathered. "I'm Belle," she introduced belatedly.

The woman nodded knowingly, then offered her hand to shake, which Belle immediately took. "Susanna Dalton. My husband Manny- Armand Dalton," she gestured over to the foyer where a tall, middle-aged man stood laughing with a small group of gentlemen, "he's the Chief of Operations of the four theme parks here in Orlando. Which is the only reason we got invited here tonight. He's going to be coordinating events with you gals a lot."

"Does he work at all with Brian Alder?"

"Can't stand the man. Didn't know why until today, but Manny hates him."

"So your husband was sequestered as well?"

"Just for the past two weeks. Lousy time to do it, though- our kids were flying down for Christmas."

Belatedly, it occurred to Belle how much effort had gone into Animasia's secrets, how much had been sacrificed that they simply didn't know about. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, honey, don't be. You all had to get out of there at some point, and New Year's certainly seems like a good time. Especially from a marketing standpoint."

"Marketing?"

"Nothing for you to worry about tonight," Susanna replied. "And hopefully not for a long time after. And as for the answer to your question-"

"Hmm?"

"The Dems are going to elect Al Gore, hands down. As for the Republicans…it'll come down to Bush and McCain, and my money's on McCain."

A knot uncurled itself in Belle's stomach. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. And if you ever need anything, just let Manny know, and he'll take care of you- or just let me handle it," she laughed.

Belle smiled, thanked Susanna, and felt quite relieved that there seemed to be someone out here who didn't offer up any false pretenses and appeared to be genuinely concerned for the well-being of the Animasians. It was nice change of pace from the rest of the evening.

* * *

_"…My fellow Americans, we have all seen something today that has never been seen before. We know now that we are not the only rational beings on this planet. This is a discovery that should make all of us pause and then go out and greet our new neighbors._

_For some, this may be a truly exciting event, a time to build new bridges. Others may be less sure, more guarded. And still others may be downright fearful. And those who are fearful, I ask only to consider this: there can be nothing evil about beings who were created to bring joy to the world…"_

_-President Bill Clinton, from his Address to the Nation, 8:00 PM, January 1, 2000_

* * *

The Tapestry was still weaving itself as Mickey entered the Silent Chamber. Threads the color of sunrise and mourning leapt around each other, plaiting together the latest Moment to grace the Palace's walls. That it chose to create itself within the Silent Chamber just plunged Mickey into a deeper level of foreboding.

It was a gorgeous piece, no question. Morning hues gracefully bathed the Castle in gentle pastels, creating the perfect fairy-tale backdrop for an event just as improbable. The Parade of Kingdoms had already started, Mickey smiling happily for the photographers, jaw clenched in a lie. Minnie walked next to him, beautiful and sincere as always. Donald, Daisy and Goofy followed, looking less optimistic than one might expect. Snow, her husband and the Dwarfs were just beginning to emerge out from the arched gate.

It was also the largest out of all the Tapestries, stretching some 30 feet along the wall, giving the illusion it was scaled to life. He paced it, looking at the castle, the crowds, his own face presenting its own illusion of happiness.

The last of the threads tucked themselves into place, completing the Tapestry. Though he hadn't done so for years, Mickey felt compelled to step into the Moment, to observe, to see all that he may have missed in passing.

He reached through the threads…

"Mickey!"

He didn't even need to ask. Bolting away from the Tapestry, towards the door and to the throne room, Mickey ran, following Minnie's voice.

It was not a pretty sight that met his eyes upon arrival.

"Dammit, Eric, we were just talking about this!" Taka growled, pacing in front of the two renegade members of the Entourage. The rest of those gathered seemed equally split, half behind Eric and Ariel, the other half behind Taka.

"You said that about Belle, Taka," Eric reminded him forcefully. "You didn't say anything about the other girls."

"Which you could have inferred, you idiot," Taka shot back.

"Stop it!"

Mickey's voice rang out, patience gone, nerves shot, appalled that the turmoil was already beginning here at the Palace. "Everyone stop. Now. And sit down."

Never seeing the Mouse so infuriated, all arguments stopped. Seats were taken in silence.

Minnie looked at Mickey, worry etched in her gaze. Mickey didn't look at her; rather, he simply waited, collecting himself before he trusted himself to speak.

When he did, it seemed quite irrelevant to the previous happenings. "Robin, were you ever able to visit Toontown?"

Robin looked at Marian, both puzzled, before answering. "Once, not long before the mirror disappeared. There really wasn't much to see."

"Not by the time you came, no there wasn't," Mickey said.

"What's Toontown?" Elisa asked, a little put off by the fact that there seemed to be a place that no one had ever bothered to tell her about.

"Animasia wasn't the only place where…Toons lived, Detective," Mickey quietly explained, pondering over the title. "Toontown was kinda our 'sister' city. The Warner Brothers Studios inadvertently created Toontown just like Walt and Ub created Animasia. Accidents and inadvertent magic can be a pretty powerful combination."

"So what happened?"

Mickey remained quiet, staring at the ebony table for a long time. "Toontown had the tendency to seem more lively, more…hip than Animasia did. Course, that's how we saw it here. The ones who actually lived in Toontown were a bit more cynical. They saw it as just another place. They couldn't wait to leave to go to the Outside.

"But they didn't. And it was the waiting that killed them. While we kept growing, adding new Kingdoms every couple of years, but Toontown just…it got stagnant. There weren't that many of them to begin with and once the resentment started, it just went downhill from there."

"The resentment?" Elisa repeated with a touch of incredulousness.

"Do you remember the Night of Dissension?"

"Um…yes."

"Why do you think that was such a terrible night?"

Elisa looked around at the faces of her comrades, wondering if she was the only one who thought the Mouse had gone off his rocker. "Because the Exiles were attacking us?"

"It was the spell they put on us, Detective, that could have been lethal."

"What, when we were arguing?"

"Yes."

"How?"

At this point, Minnie stepped in, placing her hand over Mickey's. "It's the intangibles, Elisa, that kill. Jealousy, bitterness, hate, all things that are tinged with evil destroy us. We were created out of a magic that bound us to life through benevolence. When anger is allowed to simmer unchecked, when envy tints all that we see, those feelings begin to corrode us. Humans suffer through byproducts of these emotions- thefts, betrayals, wars even. But with us, the magic that gives us life is lessened when we allow ourselves to unabashedly hate. That's what happened to the Toons in Toontown. Their envy of each other, and of us in Animasia, led to their downfall and eventually their deaths."

The throne room echoed the drafts that slit though the doors, silence reigning for a long while.

Mickey finally broke the stillness. "I brought that up as my excuse. That's why I put all of you through this, why I brought up the idea to join humanity in the first place. I've tried so hard to not let what happened in Toontown happen here. And I come in here to find that on the first day of integration, two members of the New Kingdom are already hashing it out with each other. We can't be at odds with each other so soon. If we do, then Misner wins, and we have to do whatever he says. We won't be able to join with humanity as equals. We'll always just be the entertainment. And we're so much more than that, fellas."

Looking across the table, Mickey smiled at the newest arrival. "Ariel, we're glad you're here. We need all the help we can get. But I think you'll agree that none of the others in the Entourage can know about this."

Gratified that her presence wasn't going to rip apart the resistance, Ariel nodded, then bit her lip. "Even Belle?"

"Even Belle."

Elisa sighed.

Mickey ignored it. "Now, it's been a long day, so let's just review what happened and what we can expect in the coming days. Ariel and Eric, I'd especially like to hear what happened at your gathering tonight."

Tension ebbing, voices joining in conversation, peace in the New Kingdom had been restored. While Marian and Donald talked about the Revelation that morning, Minnie leaned over to Mickey and whispered, "I thought you were going to tell them about Puck?"

"Later, Min. They've got enough to worry about right now."

Minnie shrugged, squeezed his hand again, then laughed at Ariel's anecdote of Ella's befuddlement earlier that night.

* * *

_My fellow brothers,_

_We have been given our mission._

_Centuries turn and nothing happens. So long have men waited for signs to appear, only to wait out their fruitless lives for nothing. And then, in the space of an instant, a sign appears on the eastern horizon._

_The sign is this:_

_Humanity will be corrupted._

_Unless we act now, truly we are witnessing the end._

_It does not have to be this way._

_Magic is not the way of the world. Magic is not the way of believers. Magic cannot create good things, as magic is entrenched in wickedness. But magic can be deceitful, and taint and destroy even the pure of heart._

_We know the truth behind these creatures. It is no mere coincidence that they appeared when the world is most vulnerable to their apparent charms. They may beguile the masses with their so-called magic, but we are wise enough to know the difference between their pretty words and the Word. We are the ones who must be strong._

_It is enticing to believe, as they would have us believe, that there can be a "dialogue" between our world and theirs, that we can "coexist" together in this world._

_But we know the truth:_

_This was never their world to begin with._

_Babylon will rise again._

_They will be buried in the rubble of the rising city._

_-Electronic mail distributed among the Sons of Men militia, January 5, 2000_


	12. Afterglow

_Author's Note: Shockingly, I did not fall off the face of the planet, and I would like to thank all those who have waited so patiently for this chapter. Hedwig1, thank you beyond all words. And here, I have to give a huge shout-out to TrudiRose, not only for being an excellent reviewer and, more importantly, a good person, it was her idea that helped nudge Beast out of the shadows at the end of this chapter more sensibly than anything I was cooking up._

Copyright notice: If I had any ownership rights on Disney characters, do you really think I'd release idiocy like "Cinderella II" or hack jobs like those "Princess Stories" under the good name of the Mouse? Thank you. In any event, I do not own any Disney characters, which is why I write angst-ridden fan fiction illicitly involving Disney characters. Huzzah.

Afterglow

It was the lawsuits that hurt the most.

The media coverage, the spotlight, the political angles, the burgeoning philosophies, the convergence of ideology, the shattering of theology, the threats, the letters, the recognition, the parties…all this Mickey had expected would simply be part of integrating into a new society.

But the lawsuits…

That was unexpected.

As he sat in Misner's office, watching a sizable stack of envelopes keep growing, Mickey settled into the back of the chair, knowing he was in for a long afternoon. He looked over at the CEO's detached demeanor as he was thumbing through a subpoena. "You're not surprised," Mickey observed, breaking the silence.

Misner shrugged. "America's a very litigious society. I'm surprised we've had so few of these."

"Nick, it looks like half of Hollywood and their brothers are suing us."

"Well, at least their sisters aren't involved, too."

"This ain't funny, Nick."

"It could have been a lot worse, Mickey."

"How could it be worse? All these people must hate us."

"No, Mickey, they don't hate you. They just want your money. Our money."

Puzzled, Mickey looked at the topmost paper. "Money is going to make…'emotional damages' better?"

"So says the American court of law."

"That's stupid."

"Welcome to the 21st century, Mickey." Misner leaned back into his chair, cracking his knuckles as he did so. Mickey hated that sound: aged bones abruptly screaming. He wondered how human bodies were able to withstand the damage they were constantly being subjected to…then again, eventually they weren't. "I wouldn't worry about this," Misner said, dismissively waving at the papers. "Most of these will just get tossed out the first day in court."

"And the rest?"

Another shrug. "We'll have to part with a little cash, but seeing how well the last three weeks have gone, I'm not concerned at all. Besides, it's not like these bozos knew about The Secret Lab."

Mickey turned his head sharply. "The what?"

In a dismissive tone, Misner responded, "Oh, that's right. You didn't know, either. It was another animation studio we were thinking of starting. Thanks to that congressional injunction, it doesn't look like we'll be opening that anytime soon."

"The one that blocks any animation from being made?"

"For the time being. So I just wanted to let you know what was going on over at this end. How are things in Animasia right now?"

Well, _that_ was a loaded question. And certainly no simple answer could be given, which was exactly the kind Misner wanted.

"Oh. They're fine," Mickey replied casually, accommodating Misner's short attention span, as well as the Mouse's own desire for privacy. The sad truth was, most everyone in Animasia _was_ fine, enjoying the spotlights raining down upon them.

Which was not helping the emergence of the New Kingdom. At all.

"Good," Misner said, apparently satisfied and expecting such an answer. "So about V.A.I.N.-"

For the second time in the conversation, Mickey felt stunned. There had only been one meeting of the society so far- how did Misner find out about it so quickly? "How do you know about that?"

"Word gets around, Mickey. So what does it stand for, Villainy Aggression-"

"Villains Against the Indignity of Notoriety," Mickey sighed.

"Cute. It's got to stop."

"Why? Not every 'bad guy' likes the image of being a bad guy. Especially when these supposed villains are some of the most upstanding members in Animasia. Lady Tremaine is a sweet old lady, and Jean Claude Frollo-"

"Mickey, the last thing that the press needs to find out about is that the Toons have a support group for villains. It won't look good."

"Appearances are deceiving," Mickey grumbled.

"End it, Mickey. You guys are still in a tenuous position, and any bad press would be a bad thing. Understand?"

Before Mickey could respond, Misner's desk intercom buzzed. "Nicholas, the Vatican is on the phone for you," came the voice of Misner's administrative secretary.

"The Vatican?"

"Yes. They'd like to have a word with you."

"Just a minute, Angelina." Misner turned back to Mickey. "I probably should have expected this. I need to take this call."

Mickey nodded, hopping off his chair, grateful that he wouldn't have to spend any more time with this odious man. "Bye, Nick. Have fun."

"Don't get smart, Mickey," Misner said with a biting annoyance in his voice. "You'll hear all about it tomorrow, I can assure you."

"Swell," the Mouse muttered as he left behind a suddenly humble Nicholas Misner.

* * *

Dusk had barely settled when Lexington was called into Xanatos's office. The city skyline in the office's floor-length windows offered a striking panorama as the last reds of the smoldered sun cast ebony silhouettes of the monolithic skyscrapers. The entire room seemed ablaze for an instant, then quieted into the charcoals and sapphires Lexington was most accustomed to seeing.

Scrooge was already in the room, sitting across from a preoccupied Xanatos who was reading from a think volume of spreadsheets. When the door slid shut behind Lexington, Xanatos looked up and gestured for the young gargoyle to take a seat. As he did so, Xanatos put down the paperwork and announced, "Gentlemen, pack your bags. We're taking a little trip up north."

Puzzled, Lexington asked the first question. "Where?"

"Motown, USA."

"Detroit?"

"Precisely."

"Why?"

"That is where the North American International Auto Show takes place, my friend. Which is the perfect place to unveil your little jalopy to the world. And," Xanatos continued, pausing just a moment to look at a line of print, "the perfect time to select the American headquarters of Trinity Corp."

"In Detroit?"

"Yes."

"But that's, like, thousands of miles away-"

"Twelve hundred and thirty, give or take a couple miles."

"Why not here?"

"Because, Lexington, the weight of a piece of Detroit metal is worth more than its weight in gold in the eyes of the common American man."

"That makes no sense. Japan's cars are so much better than-"

"And again, Lexington, you prove yourself a liability in regards to marketing. Just stay in R and D and don't question business practices."

Lexington frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. His pause in his interrogation allowed Scrooge to begin his own. "What sort of affair is this, David?"

"It's the premier celebration of an otherwise pedestrian gathering of automobile manufacturers, dealers, and buyers. Very simply, it is a two-week-long event housed in a building where lots of cars are showcased to stimulate buyers' interest. There could be no better place to go to debut a new vehicle as the Detroit show has the most people watching. Once people see the Excalibur, they will wish to buy the Excalibur. I've projected a demand chart that will have us meeting, if not exceeding, the capacity to produce Excaliburs on our assembly line by mid-May."

Both Scrooge and Lexington blurted out at once, "Assembly line?"

Xanatos raised an eyebrow in askance. "We'll need to make these somehow. The most cost efficient as well as the most time efficient is the assembly line."

"Xanatos, it took me almost two years to build that thing-"

"Time which can now be significantly reduced now that you know how it works."

"It wasn't designed to be constructed like that-"

"Lexington, anything can be mass-produced. One just needs the right set of hands for the job. And if you pay a man enough…"

It was Scrooge who countered with the next comment. "David, I have a feeling that all this isn't going to come out of the goodness of someone's heart. How'd you get that kind of money, lad?"

"Remember our conversation a few months ago?"

"Yes."

"There you go."

Scrooge waited for Xanatos to continue. When instead, he simply kept scanning the paperwork, Scrooge grumpily harrumphed, "And?"

"And we had a conversation several months ago. That's all you need to know."

"David, if you came into this money illicitly, I want no part of this scheme. Your projections were a wee bit more modest than what you're proposing now."

"Oh, I wouldn't say illicit, Scrooge. 'Creative' is more of an apt word choice. In any event, it's not something you should worry about. Good evening, Goliath."

The leader of the clan strode into the office. Lexington suddenly felt a deep shadow of foreboding. This couldn't turn out well.

Goliath walked up to Xanatos's desk after nodding at Scrooge. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I need to borrow Lexington for a few days. I promise I'll return him in good condition."

"For what purpose?"

"Excalibur business."

"Excalibur?"

Xanatos cocked an eye over at Lexington, who by now looked as though he was trying to hide behind a potted fichus tree. "Lexington?"

"Hi."

"You didn't tell anyone about the Excalibur, did you?"

"Um…no."

"Good man. Goliath, the Excalibur is a car that is perhaps the most ingenious machine ever built. Lexington created it and built it all by himself. He agreed to let me market and sell it, and now I need him to come up to the state of Michigan for its debut on the consumers' market."

The quick barrage of information seemed to momentarily puzzle Goliath. "Why did I not hear of any of this before?"

"That is not something I can answer. Nor am I asking for you permission to take Lexington; he is quite capable acting autonomously from the clan. I simply wanted to let you know what our intentions are."

"You presume much."

"I know even more. And I know that, despite your misgivings, you will let him go as he is the first in Animasia to bring something positive into the world of men."

Goliath looked over at Lexington, who was staring quite firmly at the ground. "We have much to discuss," he rumbled. Lexington winced.

"Oh, Goliath, that reminds me- you might want to talk to your wife soon. She looked pretty upset when she came over this evening."

Caught off guard by the sudden change in topics, Goliath asked, "Elisa is here?"

"She's with Fox down in the gymnasium."

A pause. "Why is it that you know more about my clan than I do?"

"Simple. I need less sleep than you. And if you would excuse me now, there are some details I need to hammer out in this contract. Good evening to you all."

Lexington fairly scampered away, followed by a thoughtful Scrooge and mildly perplexed Goliath. Perhaps if the clan leader had not been so preoccupied, he may just have heard another door slide open in the room, and he may just have caught a glimpse of a dark-suited, bespectacled and stoic man entering Xanatos's office before the door shut behind them.

However, Goliath saw no such thing.

In the Hallway leading out to the Eyrie's main set of elevators, Goliath finally asked Lexington. "How long have you been working on this project for Xanatos?"

"It didn't start out as a project for him- it was just something I was doing on my own. Xanatos saw it and really liked it. It was before Mickey even brought up Integration."

"So why am I only hearing about it now?"

_Because the entire time I was working on it I was also surfing the human's internet and didn't want to tell you about that, either. Or all the e-mail I hacked into. "I don't know," he offered instead._

Goliath sighed. "While I wish that you had told us what was going on, I have never heard Xanatos so complimentary in my life. He appears to truly believe in you and your work. I have my objections, but they mainly concern your safety. And that is something that I will have to learn to manage."

Hope sprung into Lexington's voice. "So I can go?"

"You can go."

Lexington's happy disbelief was the last thing Goliath saw as the elevator doors closed behind him. With that out of the way for the moment, Goliath's thoughts returned to Xanatos's closing statements to him, and Goliath realized just how much they bothered him.

Elisa could be, and had been, angry before. Frustrated, annoyed, worried, all these Goliath had seen.

Elisa did not get "upset."

There was a certain vulnerability associated with the word that Goliath simply found derogatory to the very nature of Elisa's spirit. She could be many things, but vulnerable was not one of them.

At least, that was how Goliath preferred to see her.

The incessant, rhythmic pounding of flesh hitting canvas met Goliath as he entered the Eyrie's gymnasium. Across the room, he saw Elisa smashing her fists into a full-sized punching bag, an almost vicious intensity seething from her. In a tank top that proudly showed off her musculature, the energy she exuded on the sack radiated fury. Fox stood as her spotter several feet away, though her effectiveness in this position was questionable: with each punch, she seemed inch farther away from her charge.

Knowing he should not sneak up on the two, Goliath instead circled the room, so that they would both see him approach. Fox nodded as he drew near, though Elisa was so focused on the punching bag that he had to wait for her set of reps to be over before he dared get her attention. "Hey, big guy," she greeted, panting every other word.

Not one for preamble, Goliath immediately asked, "Elisa, are you all right?"

Fox took her cue. "I'm going to hit the showers. See you next week, Elisa."

"Thanks, Fox," Elisa waved, beginning to catch her breath.

Waiting until Fox was gone, Goliath pressed more gently, "What happened? I thought you were applying to the academy today."

She laughed, bitterness tingeing the usually rich sound. "So did I. Plans changed."

"How?"

She waited to answer while she walked over to a bench and sat down. She seemed to deflate, that earlier vigor seeping out of her. "Apparently, Toons can't become cops. They can't do much of anything, actually."

"Who told you that?"

"Everyone I talked to today. Not in so many words, but the gist was always the same. You can't be a cop without a GED, and the government isn't letting Toons take the GED test until they…" She paused, trying to remember the exact phrasing. "…until 'a mutually agreed consensus is reached regarding the sentiency of animated peoples.' We're not real to them, Goliath. They have to prove that we're capable of- oh, hell, I don't know what we have to prove to them."

The only other time Goliath could recall seeing her so angry was after the dust had settled from the Exiles' attack. Integrating into human society shouldn't produce the same effect. "Elisa-"

"I can't do this, Goliath. I can't keep feeling this useless. I can't keep _being_ this useless."

"You're not," he said, his insistent voice a quiet thunder.

A helplessness he'd never heard before rang throughout her words. "I wish I could believe you."

He spent the rest of the night convincing her.

* * *

Out of the winter gloom slit a hand-whittled arrow, its aim straight and true, hitting its mark with a quietly satisfying _sshwit._ A second arrow echoed the first, an unsteady shadow, trembling in mid-air as it sailed beyond the target, landing inaudibly in the latest dusting of snow.

"Good lord, Eric, that was terrible."

Eric glared at Robin, rolling his shoulders back and clenching his polished bow tighter. "Thanks."

"No really, that was below amateur. What's going on?"

"You mean, other than the fact that we're having target practice in sub-freezing weather?"

"I asked if you wanted to go to the savanna, and no, you said Sherwood was fine-"

"All right, I did, fair enough."

Taking aim once more, Robin eased the taut string long enough to ask, "So what is it really?"

Eric frowned, shaking his head. "It's this Entourage…_thing_," he finally pronounced putting as much loathing into the last word as his voice would allow.

"Ah." A cockeyed grin appeared on Robin's face as he let another arrow fly. "And the high-and-mighties of Animasia are affecting your aim because…?"

"Because they're no letting me see my wife."

The mirth faded from Robin's voice. "What?"

"I told you about that scene between Gaston and Alder on New Year's, right? So now they've arranged the schedule so that none of the guys are ever with our wives anymore." Sarcasm dripping bitterly into his voice, Eric continued, "That's great for us, because who really wants to see Prince Charming without Snow? But everyone wants to see the Princesses. Even the morons who've told Ariel they liked her better as a fish. And she just loves hearing that."

"I'm sorry, mate."

"Me too." With a mighty sigh of frustration, Eric shrugged off his quiver and lay the bow beside a small, craggy henge of stones. "I sure hope Mickey knows what he's doing."

"Of course he does."

"You think so?"

"You don't?"

"Not really, no."

Troubled by this turn in the conversation, Robin's voice took a harder edge. "Well, that's keeping your faith in him well, isn't it?"

"Maybe he hasn't done anything in a while that's kept it there."

"He's doing all he can, Eric."

"What, waiting? Waiting for everyone else to realize we've been had? I don't know if you've been paying attention to what's being said, but so far, just about everyone likes what's going on. They don't seem to mind performing for an audience- hell, they're eating it up!"

"That's a generalization."

Eric shook his head. "Then you're not paying attention. I'm telling you, Robin, if this is how Mickey's planning to win this thing, we might as well just accept that we're on the losing side."

Robin stared at Eric for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Then perhaps I was wrong to tell you about the hopes of the New Kingdom in the first place."

"If this is what you mean by hope, then yeah, you were."

And doubt entered into the New Kingdom.

* * *

Mufasa looked warily around at the never-ending hallway, cobalt walls looming around him, offering no clue how to escape the maze. Brine hung low in the air, the pervasiveness of salt water creeping into the thick of his mane. He felt the particles emanating from the overhead fluorescents bearing down on him as though they carried physical weight, constricting him in this oppressive labyrinth.

In his vexation, he reflected that it had seemed like a good idea at the time:

Investigate the new area where the Pride would be paraded…where the Pride would get to interact with all sorts of new people and ideas at Epcot.

Bull.

Mufasa shook his head in remembrance of the conversation earlier that day, when they were in the Town Hall, gathered for a meeting with their Kingdom's counselor. Mufasa had forbidden any human from stepping foot inside the Pride Lands, a move many in Animasia thought as paranoid and isolationist. Unsurprisingly, Mufasa thought many in Animasia were fools. The human counselor assigned to the Pride had just told them that they would be temporarily moved from their pavilion in Animal Kingdom to Epcot's Future World.

"Why?" Mufasa asked, sensing trouble already. Not that he enjoyed anything about that overgrown zoo. He simply had no trust in humanity, their motives, and their words.

"It's a chance for you to see more people and new places that you haven't gotten a chance to see yet."

"Or could it be that Ariel has no intention of moonlighting as a mermaid in front of the Living Seas like she's been asked to? And that there is now a large tent for greeting sessions to take place and there is no one to greet?" Taka asked, just a hint of slyness creeping into his words.

The counselor, Miguel, looked stunned. "How did you know that?"

"You're wasting your time, you know," Taka continued, ignoring the question. "She can't turn into a mermaid. It's not how the magic chose her to be."

"Her choice…?"

"_Taka!" Mufasa growled in an undertone so low that only his brother could hear. "Stop it."_

Mufasa growled in an undertone so low that only his brother could hear.

The black-maned lion cast a doubtful glance at Mufasa, but dropped his explanation. "So you're just looking for a back-up."

"Yes. _No_. No, we need you to come to Epcot to see…um, to interact with new people."

"What time tomorrow?" Mufasa asked, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible and knowing that Mickey would give him grief if he was too obstinate on the matter.

"Same call as always: Noon, and again at three and five."

"Fine." After a requisite round of civil good-byes, Mufasa waited until the cubs had rushed off to their afternoon class (Simba grumbling the entire time) and the three avowed members of the New Kingdom were alone for the unbridled reproach practically bursting out of his muzzle. "Taka, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Though clearly taken aback, Taka nevertheless stood his ground. "What?"

" 'That's not how the magic chose her-' What were you thinking, telling one of them about us?"

"Perhaps I was trying to get them to leave her alone for something that she couldn't possibly do."

"This from the one who tried to throw her out of the Palace her first night there."

"Yes. Damn it, Mufasa, that was a mistake. Don't throw that back at me now."

"Then don't tell a human about how we come to be. You have more sense than that, Taka."

"What are you afraid of?"

"The rumors that will start now. The half-truths and the untruths. What _they_ will think of us."

"What, of magic that we don't have?"

"Of magic that they'll think we have. Taka, that idiot came away thinking that Ariel got to choose how she wanted to live. That idea will spread as he talks to others about us, about what he believes you told him. And it will get more convoluted as it passes though more open ears attached to empty heads."

Empty heads. Mufasa had to admit that he hadn't shown the greatest intelligence himself when he snuck into the backstage area of Epcot and into the Living Seas pavilion to get a closer look at the Pride's…what was that dreadful phrase…Meet n' Greet tent. Not a bad idea had he known where he was going.

Instead, he had gotten himself lost in the cast member hallways, winding, seemingly endless hallways that either led to dead ends or the public onstage areas, which were the last places Mufasa wanted to be.

The public.

The adoring, clamoring, abominable public.

Shoving, screaming, tripping over each other just to get a glimpse and an autograph (for the Pride, it was no more than an inky paw print). Instantaneous mobs appeared the moment any Animasian appeared on property, and security was only guaranteed within the confines of the four theme parks. As such, no one had yet been able to leave Disney property, though Integration had supposedly begun three weeks ago.

He had always known, at the very least suspected, that this was going to be the way of things once the Door was opened. And he hated being right.

He rounded a corner and a flight of upward stairs met his sight. Though he couldn't recall descending a staircase on his way in, anything was worth a shot at this point. Gamely, he trotted up the cement steps, the scratchy slip-proof strips grating against his paws. Though there was a door at the top of the stairs, no ubiquitous sign yelling "Guest Area" was placed beside it, so, tentatively, he pushed it open with his shoulder.

The room that met him was entirely unlike he'd encountered yet in the pavilion. Rather than utilitarian hallways and stark lighting, this area was muted in frosted track lighting and warm-colored woods; the oceanic blues of the lower level were only hinted at in playful glass pieces and curving accents on the walls. Even the scent of salt water was lessened, still present but mild, a mist of the sea rather than downpour. A springy carpet in sand tones replaced the cheap tile. A refreshing change of pace, to be sure, but still not an exit. Still, there was a corridor to his left that needed to be explored and perhaps, just perhaps, that might lead to an escape.

The end of the corridor didn't provide him with any means of exiting the accursed building, but he nonetheless felt compelled to stay longer than he might have after realizing that the wall in front of him was actually composed of glass, and on the other side of that glass lay a tank filled with water and sea creatures. Large sea creatures. The kind that don't belong in tanks: tiger sharks and hammer heads, gliding sting rays and several wary sea turtles. After several moments empathizing with the captive beasts, Mufasa came upon another discovery:

He wasn't alone in the room.

A young woman in custodial whites sat on a ledge jutting out from the glass of the tank, her back resting against the wall, legs stretched out on the sill. Her broom and dustpan leaned neatly against the wall a few feet away, forgotten for the duration of this respite. Eyes closed, she appeared lost in the midst of a quiet nap.

There was something decidedly improper about this scene, and yet, because it was so completely anathema to the image that the Company always tried to present, that of the perfect, utopian workforce, Mufasa couldn't help but feel amused.

"Seas Three, over."

The sharp bark of a disembodied metallic voice startled both Mufasa and the custodian. She briefly shuddered, rubbed her face, then started fumbling for a long gray box clipped to her side. "Seas Three," she responded finally, holding the box next to her mouth, then yawning beside it.

"Seas Three, we have a protein spill at the guest entrance at Journey."

Mufasa heard a muttered, "Oh, bloody hell," before a louder confirmation, "Copy that." Clipping the box back to its place at her side, she stood and stretched, and with a sigh as though she were being dragged to the gallows, picked up her broom and dustpan and started heading out of the room.

Which was when she finally saw Mufasa.

She blinked, as though trying to convince herself that she was indeed awake, then gawked for an odd moment before uncertainly asking, "Hello?"

Hoping this wasn't going to turn into some huge fiasco, Mufasa responded with a brisk, "Good evening."

The simple fact that he responded seemed to shake her out of her apprehension. A smile, a genuine smile, not the tittering, false grimaces that Mufasa so often encountered lit up her face. "You seem to be a little bit out of your element," she commented, a touch of wryness just barely gracing a light New England accent. "Can I help you, Mufasa?"

This small gesture seemed to hearten the lion. "I'm impressed that you knew my name. Most people seem to confuse me with my son."

"Yeah. Well, most people are stupid."

Mufasa nodded sagely. "This is very true. And I would be obliged for your assistance. I have been…misguided in my attempts to leave here and-"

"And you got lost." A wide smile now. "The first week I worked here, I got so lost I almost called Central for a guide to get me out of here. I know it's confusing. If you just want to follow me, I'm heading out anyway." A slight pause. "Promise you won't tell my managers about that little nap?"

Confused, Mufasa asked, "Why would I?"

"Thank you." As they walked back towards the staircase, the young woman said, "Every now and then this room is used for big receptions- weddings, park functions, that kind of thing. When it's not, it's nice to come up here and just take a breather from the day. It's a lot nicer than hiding out in a broom closet. Which I'll sometimes do anyway. It's not always easy working two jobs and finding time to sleep."

As she was ahead of him, she didn't see him furrow his eyebrows, puzzled. Why did she feel the need to tell him this? He hadn't inquired into her life; why was she discussing it? Nevertheless, a sense of…gratefulness, perhaps, persuaded him to ask, "Oh really?"

"Yeah. It's my fault- if I hadn't been so gung ho on working for Disney, I would have taken more time to get ready to come down here, created a better portfolio, had more in my bank account…of course, it's all kind of a moot point now."

"Why?"

"Well, I had wanted to be an animator, but…well…um…yeah. Guess that's not going to happen now. At least until Congress figures out what you guys are."

So it wasn't just those in Animasia who were getting duped by the process of integration. It wasn't a pleasant realization; there were others being wronged by this terrible lack of foresight and no possible way for it to be rectified in any timely fashion. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged, an obvious attempt at a nonchalance she didn't feel. "I'm sure someone out there in the world isn't terrified of hiring someone who knows how to draw. It'll just take awhile to find that person. Here we are."

They had stopped in front of a double door Mufasa couldn't recall seeing. "This will take you backstage and down to the tunnels. Do you know how to get there?"

He nodded. "Thank you very much…I apologize, I don't know your name."

"Cate."

"Thank you, Cate. You were an indispensable amount of help."

Her smile returned. "You're welcome. Thanks for listening to the ramblings of a tired art major."

"You are welcome. Good night."

"See you around."

With a final nod, Mufasa pushed his way out into the freedom of the evening air. The backstage area was little more than an asphalt-covered parking lot, but after the inordinate time spent in the Living Seas, sunset-hued blacktop was a welcome scenery change.

And the nagging feeling of sympathizing with a human was one that stayed with him long after he returned to the safety of the Pride Lands.

* * *

Every fiber of common sense told her that this was a mistake, yet Belle still struck out on the path for the castle, hoping she wasn't going to monumentally regret this decision.

Helping Chip with his homework was a non-issue; of _course_ she would help him if he were struggling with schoolwork. That was a given. Why it was insisted that she come to the castle rather than have him over to the cottage was the true puzzle, and apparently one that was going to remain unsolved. Lumiere was adamant that she come, mentioning schedules and other such points Lumiere had never shown the slightest interest in. Yet, here she was, already at the palace gates, English and math textbooks firmly in hand.

Too well in hand. She felt a digging in her left hand and, after a moment juggling the books around, realized that her engagement ring had twisted around her finger. In her clenched hands, the diamond started burrowing itself into her mid finger.

Straightening it out, she wondered why Lumiere was suddenly so interested in Chip's education. Shouldn't Mrs. Potts…well, it was all a moot point. The doors to the castle swung open, and Belle stepped inside.

The darkness that had been present on her last visit here had grown. A grayness had descended upon the glory of this room, muting it, smothering it into something less. How could this have ever been her home? As she walked into the grand hallway, she couldn't help shake an oppressiveness that drenched her. She wondered if her memory was simply faulty, if the grandeur she remembered had been imagined or misplaced from some other castle.

But no.

She remembered being happy here. That couldn't be imagined, unless the entirety of her existence to this point had been rounded in sleep.

Once upon a lifetime ago…

"_Get out."_

Belle froze, the sound of the threat chillingly familiar. A rush of mild nausea swept up through her, fading as it crept through her skin, raising hairs. Why was he doing this…of course. She should've expected this. She swallowed the foreboding down as a rush of anger fired through. "Next time just ask," she coolly retorted into the shadows. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"No!"

The voice instantly lost any menace it might have carried; desperation and self-loathing careened into the timbre as Beast practically leapt out of the shadows and down the wide staircase. Though he landed barely a foot away from her, she remained where she stood, unimpressed at his agility.

"I didn't know that was you," he breathed, eyes pleading forgiveness.

"Your memory's worse than I remember," Belle said calmly.

"I didn't…" His voice trailed, obviously flustered. Starting again, he explained, "There have been strangers here, looking for me."

"Humans?"

Beast nodded, looking annoyed. "Lumiere and Cogsworth have kept them at bay so far, but they'll be back. I…mistook you for one of them."

"Why?" A half-smile crept into her eyes. "I don't think I've changed too much."

"Your clothes," he offered lamely. "You've never worn clothes like that before. You looked like them. From a distance."

Belle looked down at her denim slacks and collared blouse, a noticeable departure from her skirts and dresses, if one knew how to look. Which he did. Of course he knew how to look.

Rather than explore that line of thought, Belle jumped back to the original subject. "Why were they here?"

"For the same reason they want you."

"To perform?"

"That's not what they called it."

"That's what it is."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Belle shrugged. "Be careful what you wish for, isn't it?"

"This can't be what you wished for."

"No. It's not."

Pause. The pause lengthened. The shadows seemed to creep back as the moments of silence continued. Belle, having too much to say and no means of saying it, was about to excuse herself to go find Chip when-

"Belle?"

"Yes?"

A slight hesitation. "Congratulations."

She looked up at him for the first time in the conversation. "For what?" she asked, puzzled. There was nothing she'd done recently that deserved praise.

He looked back at her, confused. "You are engaged to be married, are you not?"

"Oh." That. "Well, yes. Thank you."

He nodded.

No.

It couldn't end like this. A blessing from him? That was it? She could see the tension returning to his frame, fear once more clouding his eyes. In a minute, he would be gone, and she knew if she didn't do something in this breath of an instant, this would be the last time she'd ever see him again.

"_To Kill a Mockingbird_ is a really good book," she said abruptly.

The suddenness of her statement caught him. "Pardon?"

Mechanically, just to say something: "Harper Lee. Published in 1960. Excellent book."

"You've read it?"

"Yes." In a more natural, confident voice, Belle continued, " I asked Elaine, our adult ed. teacher, for a list of books that she would recommend to a newcomer to later 20th century fiction. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ was at the top of the list. Once I started reading it, I couldn't put it down. I even snuck a few pages in at Entourage events."

"What's the Entourage?"

She rolled her eyes. "An annoyance. Trust me, you'd rather hear about the book."

"Then please tell me about it."

"Well…the narrator is a young girl name Scout…"

And on. She talked about the larger-than-life, yet incredibly human Atticus, the flights of fancy of Jem and Dill, the mystery of Boo Radley and the tragedy of Tom Robinson long past the time that there would be any surprises left in the book for Beast to discover.

And neither cared about the passage of time, nor what surprises a piece of paper might hold.

It was enough to be in this moment.

Eventually, her words began to slow and details became hazy. Chip exerted perfect timing by bounding in to the hallway and running to Belle. Beast excused himself- no cowering, no slinking away. And as Chip began to lead Belle to a study den, she saw Lumiere, out of the corner of her eye, poke his head into the hallway and, thinking her back turned, give Chip the briefest wink and nod she'd ever seen. She looked down at Chip, who had not yet mastered the art of being subtle, and saw a very wide, very proud smile beaming across his face. "And what are you smiling about?" she asked him with her own grin.

"I'm just glad you're here."

"Me too, Chip."

Tutoring was a lot more bearable than she thought it would be.


	13. Once Upon a Time in NYC

**Author's note:** I know it's been awhile. Believe me, I _know_ it's been awhile since I last updated. For those of you still willing to read the continuing adventures of Animasia, bless you.

**Copyright notice:** Again, I own nothing that the Disney Company owns. I don't even own the title to this chapter because Disney owns it, though it was Huey Lewis and the News who wrote it.

And the "Harry Potter" text copyright belongs to J.K. Rowling.

"Once Upon a Time in New York City…"

_Hear Ye, Hear Ye!_

_The Magic Comes to Town_

_This Saturday Only!_

_Come and Experience the Enchantment_

_As the Royal Entourage_

_Brings Its Magic to New York_

_Only at The Disney Store_

_On Fifth Avenue_

_Stay the Evening_

_And Sunday Will Bring a New Round_

_Of Magic for the Whole Family!_

_Belle and All Her Enchanted Friends_

_Will be in Attendance at the Lunt-Fontanne Theater_

_To Enjoy an Evening Performance_

_of "Beauty and the Beast."_

The cotton candy-shaded flyer rested next to Belle as she sat on the ottoman, holding a staring contest with her golden gown as it mocked her from its disheveled heap on the edge of the bed. Ruefully, she hoped that it would disappear if she scrutinized it long enough.

It wasn't working.

And it was getting late.

Did it matter?

What was one less princess to a throng of hyperactive children?

One less autograph?

One less memory?

One more promise broken.

The guilt card now in play, she stood to get dressed. Granted, she herself had never made a promise to the schoolchildren of Manhattan to appear before them and play dress up; however, she'd seen disappointment fell the faces of Animasia's children too many times to know that her absence would cause some sort of negative reaction. She had learned that much by now about their status. Not much else about human society, but she did understand the power a "princess" could have to a wide-eyed little girl.

Before donning the cursed dress yet again, though, she peeked out from behind the curtain and down at the pavement below, watching vendors and pedestrians start the morning shuffle on the streets of The Big Apple.

New York City.

So far, she was a lot less impressed than she hoped she would be. That wasn't a fair assessment, though, and she knew it: most of what she'd seen was through half-shut eyes, courtesy of the red-eye flight from Orlando the Entourage had taken at some awful hour that morning. The PR guys said it was to maintain an aura of mystery to the Princesses so they wouldn't be peddled in front of the shutterbugs and maintain some dignity to the weekend. Belle suspected something else was going on; since when did the PR guys _not_ like the cameras? Her questions were deflected with a standard "We Know Best For You" speech, so she just went with the flow for once, too tired to make much of a stir. And so, before the sun had even graced the horizon or Lady Liberty's crown, the Entourage was discreetly shuttled away to their hotel, entering the building from below the street level in a parking substructure, briskly escorted to their rooms with the instructions for a 9:30 call in Ella's room.

Of course.

Why should Ella be inconvenienced at all?

Belle caught her reflection in the mirror once the fabric slid over her face. She hated the person looking back, hated the person that she was becoming just to cope with the everyday annoyances and frustrations, hated how bitter she was. And why should she be?

She was a princess, after all.

She met her eyes in the mirror, saw the sorrow, the exasperation, the hopelessness hidden just behind exhausted irises. Just as quickly, she turned away, not wanting to confront her inner demons in a New York City hotel room.

* * *

"…so happy to have you all here…"

A representative of the NYC Tourism Bureau stood in the middle of the sitting area in Ella's hotel room, surrounded in a half-circle by royalty, cast members and PR drones of varying ranks, and a dozen or so plain-clothed security officers. She half-listened to the speaker recite the day's itinerary while she scanned the room, trying to discern from the faces of those gathered the importance of what was not being said instead of the current rhetoric.

She was used to the security officers; they were always around the Entourage in Magic Kingdom. Not that she ever received a good enough explanation why, if the parks were so safe, they were needed. But she was used to such mysteries by now. The obvious answer was that the parks simply weren't as safe as management would have them believe, and anyplace outside Disney grounds would be even less so. Hence the extra security now. Not that they looked particularly worried; this was their job, after all.

Brian Alder, on the other hand, looked nauseous. That wasn't too unusual, either; the man was so perpetually uptight she wondered how his entire digestive tract wasn't calloused with ulcers. He was so anathema to everything that the Entourage theoretically represented, she still couldn't figure out why he had wound up as their primary liaison. She much preferred the times Armand Dalton helped coordinate events, since he actually seemed to care about the welfare of the Entourage just a tad more than the guest experience. Thankfully, both he and Susanna had come on the trip as well. Susanna seemed to be half-listening to the itinerary as well: in her lap sat a collection of _New York Times_crossword puzzles, and Belle could see the tip of a pencil constantly twirling above the edge of the pages. And Armand…

…was quiet. Which confirmed her suspicions that something was not right. A jovial, genuine gentleman whose enthusiasm muted his age, Armand delighted in his job and always seemed to be at the center of things, directing, explaining, instructing, a true leader, and not just another managerial drone. To see him silent, standing against the wall with a folded newspaper under his arm, simply listening and not engaging the speaker was odd, and slightly unsettling. She tried to read his face, wondering what he was so focused on that had him so distracted.

"…the limos will take you to the Disney Store on Fifth Avenue-"

"I thought we were taking stagecoaches?" Ella interrupted.

"Limousines are the 21st Century's stagecoach," the Bureau rep answered smoothly. Ella seemed to contemplate this answer, then gave a satisfied nod of her head, and the speech continued. Belle watched as Eric rolled his eyes and Ariel just as quickly covered her mouth with her hands, lest she appear amused by her husband's annoyance.

Yes, the princes had been invited as well. A husband for every wife, a prince for every princess.

Except for Belle.

Alone at the ball again.

She wondered how long the charade could be kept up. And then she wondered why she bothered to play along with it,

_because she liked the charade_

because it was inevitable that sooner or later the truth would come out. Beast's continued absence was extremely noticeable, and she wondered how many more poorly thought stories would be concocted to cover that considerable void.

"…and for dinner, we'll take them to the Russian Tea Room, where Anastasia will be sure to shine."

All six princesses looked at each other, puzzled, while the Florida contingent of the Special Interests group all gaped at the speaker. "You didn't," Alder began.

"What?"

"Are you talking about my step-sister?" Ella asked.

"Um, no…Princess Anastasia…you know, from Russia…"

"Oh," Belle realized, catching on and growing disgusted. "They're talking about Anastasia Romanov, the murdered daughter of Russia's last Tsar. What on earth would possess you to think that that poor young girl was with us?"

"The movie. She's a Disney Princess, right?"

"No, she wasn't!" Alder fairly exploded. "What the hell were you thinking? You didn't notice the Fox fanfare blaring before the credits rolled?"

"Calm down, Brian," Armand said. "The Tea Room's a great place for the girls to go. They'll be well seen and the food's good. Snafu Number 1. Calm down, Brian."

However, Alder didn't seem placated. "Didn't you pay any attention to the information we sent you?"

"Of course we did-"

"So does this thing happen often? When the U.N. delegation from Kenya arrives, do you assume they're the Harlem Globetrotters?"

"Brian!"

Armand glared at his coworker, all traces of his usual geniality gone. "Go downstairs and coordinate with the limo drivers," he quietly told Alder, his voice steeled with warning. "I'll fill you in on anything you miss." Silence followed Alder out the room until Armand cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about that," he told the Bureau rep. "Please continue…though I do hope that you don't expect Fievel Mouskewitz to pop in for a guest appearance."

The rep gave a weak smile, stared at his paper for a minute, then continued from where he had left off, rambling a little bit to show how much he did know about the characters of the Walt Disney Company.

Belle lost interest again and tried instead to read off the paper Armand still held under his arm, wanting to discern if there was any threat in there that may have made his so tense. When she realized that it was only an article detailing the Entourage's tour in New York, she turned away and focused inward, thinking about how relieved she would be when Gaston arrived so she'd finally have someone to talk to.

* * *

A wave of claustrophobia met Belle as the Entourage was ushered into the Disney Store on Fifth Avenue. Not that they would ever have known that they were off property. The limousines had picked them up in the parking garage below the hotel, and the limos themselves had such dark tinting in the windows it was almost impossible to see much out of them, no matter how much she craned her neck. She didn't want to see the buildings, as the other princesses did; the buildings were the same back in Animasia, in Elisa's New York.

She wanted to see the people. She wanted to see what real people were like when they weren't being tourists, when they were concerned with more than just getting a hastily scribbled autograph, when they were being themselves. But between the darkened windows and the absurd amount of cars and trucks that further blocked her view, all she saw were glimpses of another crowd, one that could easily be transplanted into the middle of the Magic Kingdom.

Now inside the store that was temporarily closed to the public, the Entourage waited for their call, amusing themselves by looking at all the odds and ends with their likenesses plastered on in varying degrees of accuracy.

Perhaps that was the moment when Belle realized how truly alienated they were from human society. She had never fully appreciated just how much…_stuff_ was linked to her: dolls, puzzles, figurines, snow globes coffee mugs, tee shirts, make-up kits…how on earth were they ever supposed to fit into a society that had trademarked them into submission?

A few islands over, Belle watched Jasmine crease her eyebrows at a glass figurine of herself, a distinct embarrassment etching into the corners of her lips. Aladdin noticed it, too. "What?" he asked.

"Look at this," she hissed.

He did, and rather than concern, a slightly goofy, slightly eager expression drew over his face. "I like it."

She bristled. "This thing shows me half-naked, and it's got this idiotic 'come hither' look on its face."

"So why wouldn't I like it, Jasmine?"

"How many other men do you think have liked it, too?"

That sobered him up immediately.

While the many objects never put Belle's modesty into question, it was definitely uncomfortable being around so many things bearing her likeness. Especially since most of them had her cavorting around with Beast. She briefly wondered why she'd never felt this discomfort before until it hit her that she couldn't recall ever being in one of the hundred shops that lined Main Street or any of the other lands. She'd never had the experience of being confronted by a thousand other Belles; it wasn't part of any lesson she'd had with Elaine, though perhaps it should have been. _How to Confront Your Newfound Celebrity in Five Easy Steps_, complete with a ratings chart. Perhaps management had never intended Animasians to really integrate, maybe that's why…

But no, they were here, they'd been announced to the world…integration surely was the ultimate goal, wasn't it? Maybe all this parading about with the Entourage was to get the celebrity bug out of the humans' systems, and eventually, some time in the future, they could really be part of humanity.

Why did that sound too good to be true?

"Ladies and gentlemen, this way please."

Alder, the tourism rep, and a new person, probably the store manager given the turquoise sweater she seemed stuffed into, led the Entourage up to the third level of the store. Belle hastened away with the rest, glad to be gone from the two thousand poorly painted eyes that seemed to follow her into the elevator.

It wasn't much better on the third floor, however.

The store manager began to explain how the floor had been cleared of space all stands and merchandisers for the crowd of children about to descend. Six booths sat against the back wall, one for each princess. The booths were draped in pastel fabrics that would coordinate with each princess' gown, and within each sat a couch and a neatly stacked pile of souvenirs specific to the theme of each girls' movie- gilded pumpkins for Ella, starfish for Ariel, and, of course, roses for Belle. Of course. Each child would receive the souvenir at the end of their conversation with the princess, a brief and completely scripted conversation that Alder began to teach them.

Except Belle wasn't paying attention anymore. The walls themselves had not been cleared from the reach of small fingers, and she saw that the many picture frames scattered around were not just pictures.

They were _cels._

Fully colored, fully laid out, background, foreground, characters. Her throat constricted as she realized that she could very well be standing in a room that contained the moments of their creation.

Discreetly as she could, she inched back away from the Entourage to the nearest wall and faced row after row of scenes from Atlantica and her castle.

Beast's castle.

In the corner of each frame read a scene number, a brief description and price. Her eyes, so trained to soak up every printed word, ignored these and stared transfixed at the scenes before her: Ariel and Eric in their wedding garb, the spires of Atlantica seen from a grotto of coral, Triton beaming proudly down at his daughters, an autumn morning dawning on a little town in provincial France, Gaston lying in wait for his prey, shadows etched under his eyes from the fire of the unseen mob, and…

…and…

…and…a pair of lovers, one in gold, one in blue, one looking up, the other down, their gaze meeting the other in a silence born of joy, adoration and peace. The heavens danced behind them, approval flitting in and out of the starlight.

Was this the moment that had birthed them?

Was it here that their Kingdom spilled into the boundaries of Animasia? Or were there different moments, not here, that once cobbled brought together the people, the land, the magic of her home?

She didn't know, probably would never know for certain, but this cel that stared back at her now was the most concrete clue to her origin. So why was it here, some thousand miles away from her home? Why had they never been allowed to see these finished pictures, or the sketches that fist gave the inspiration to their being? Why were they on sale for the masses who had no connection to her world save for a pocketbook? Why-

"-doesn't Belle give us a rundown of what we expect as proper Entourage decorum?"

Belle turned around to see Alder and the rest of the Entourage looking at her, expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance. Glaring back at Alder, Belle answered, "Smile at the guest, offer a handshake or curtsey, ask for a name, favorite color and favorite movie. Hand out a souvenir, smile and curtsey goodbye."

Alder appeared mollified. "You were paying attention, then. Good."

"It's not that difficult to remember," she muttered, reluctantly returning to the assembled. Though she wanted to stay and keep looking at the cel of her and Beast, she was also glad to be away from the still of Gaston. Hidden in the shadow of her cottage, the firelight heightened his more…calculating side, and it…well, maybe not _frightened_ her, but she certainly had no desire to connect that person to the man she was going to marry.

The princesses took to their booths, the princes standing off to the side as though guarding their respective maidens. Belle stood gamely next to her roses, looked to her right where her intended should be, sighed, then straightened as the doors opened and a flood of half-sized clones poured in.

Most of the girls were dressed in the Princess Halloween costumes, each beaming as they proudly wore the emblem of their favorite princess. As she looked over the chattering crowd, Belle had to admit there was something to karma as she saw the gold-colored dresses outnumbering the silver. She glanced briefly over at Ella, who seemed to have picked up on the same fact. Ella never lost her composure, though Belle suspected that she was going to pay for this grand insult in some way.

After an hour or so of making small talk with over-eager children, Belle noticed a terrible sameness to all the girls who curtseyed, sashayed, pirouetted for them, and it wasn't just the tacky imitation dresses. Dimpled, freckled, curled, bright-eyed little girls endlessly coming forth for their chance moment with real royalty. In this democratic nation, monarchs still ruled, Belle thought wryly. And why should a ball gown be a mark of distinction above the office of the president? Just what were these girls learning, anyway?

She didn't get a chance to answer her own question as the next young girl to step up took Belle by surprise. It wasn't just that she was one of the few to not be in the gaudy princess garb- she looked ready for Christmas in an emerald green and white crushed velvet dress, copper hair elegantly braided.

It was that she looked hopelessly miserable.

Belle could sympathize. "Hello, little one. What's your name?"

Barely a whisper: "Madelyn Devereaux."

"Well, Madelyn, would you like to come sit with me?"

Eyes fixed on the floor, she sat. Knowing that the rehearsed spiel was only going to come out forced, Belle decided on a different approach. Casually, she began, "I really like your dress."

A tiny, tiny smile. "Thank you."

"It reminds me of the holidays. Christmas is one of my favorite times of the year…although, I remember a Christmas a couple of years ago when Lumiere took over decorations for the castle. And he didn't tell anyone that he was going to make a couple of rather big changes."

Jut as Belle had hoped, Madelyn was looking up with interest. "Like what?"

"Well, the biggest change was when we all came into the ballroom on Christmas Eve and we found the Christmas tree…was not in the place we thought it would be."

"Where was it?"

"Lumiere had asked Tinkerbelle to sprinkle some pixie dust on the tree, so instead of on the ground, it was hung upside down from the ceiling."

Engrossed now, Madelyn's eyes were fixated on Belle. "No way."

"Oh yes. Lumiere thought it would be funny to play a prank on Cogsworth, and that part worked really well."

"That wasn't very nice of Lumiere."

"No, it wasn't," Belle agreed, although she stifled a laugh at the memory of a Cogsworth near-coronary as he ranted and raved about the blasphemy to decorum. Personally, she thought it was rather whimsical. Until… "Then Chip started worrying how Santa would be able to deliver the presents if he couldn't get to the tree. And it was obvious that Lumiere hadn't thought about that, either."

"So what happened?"

"Well, when we woke up on Christmas morning, the tree was just where it should have been. Lumiere had spent the whole night trying to coax the tree down from the ceiling. He even asked Santa to wait just a few more minutes so the tree would be firmly anchored to the ground when the presents were placed under it. And we had a marvelous Christmas day."

The little girl's eyes were sparkling with wonder. "Trees can really fly in Animasia?"

"Yes, they can."

"And magic is really real?"

"Yes."

"And no one's ever mean to anyone?"

Ah-ha. "Was someone mean to you, Madelyn?"

She shrugged, returning her gaze to the floor. "There were some girls who were making fun of my dress when we were in line. They said I should look like a princess if I was going to meet a princess. But I'd wanted to wear _my_ favorite dress, not your favorite dress. I wanted to look my best to see you."

"And you look beautiful, Madelyn. I'm honored that you wanted to look your best for me."

"But those girls said I wasn't good enough-"

"They're wrong." Despite having met her just minutes before, Belle's heart ached for the girl, knowing far too well what she was going through. "Oh, Madelyn, they were so wrong. You chose your own way, the way that was best for you. You should be proud that you chose to look unique. I think you're the most beautiful girl here, simply because you thought for yourself instead of thinking the same way that everyone else did."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. There's always going to be 'those girls' who think they know what's best for you, and won't be very nice about telling you their opinion. The best way to ignore them is to continue being yourself, because girls like that will only ever be as good as someone else tells them they are. Now, can you promise me that you'll always think for yourself?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed proudly.

"Wonderful. And I'll hold you to that," Belle said with a smile. Then, seeing that Alder was bout to come and break up their chat, asked, "So is there anything you'd like me to autograph?"

To Belle's tremendous surprise, Madelyn shook her head. "Actually, I wanted to give you something." Her voice took on the timid timbre again, but she continued to speak with a smile. "I heard that Beast was shy, so I wanted to write him a letter and tell him how great America is so he would want to see it himself. I was going to mail it, but then my mom and I thought it would be better if I gave it to you so you could give it to him."

Stunned, Belle accepted the little booklet made of wide-ruled paper and colored with crayon. She read the title _Wellcom To Youre New Hom!,_each letter a different shade than the next. She could see the next pages had pictures of different landmarks Madelyn was familiar with, and handwritten captions underneath each one. She turned back to the cover, marveling at the thoughtfulness and time that went into the gift. "Thank you," she finally said.

"Will you please give it to him?"

"Of course. I will make sure that he gets this. And I want to give you something, too." Thinking quickly, she took one of the roses and pulled the ribbon off. As discreetly as she could, she slipped off her gloves and tied them together, then around the rose in a passable imitation of a bow. "I want you to have these. When you're older, they'll fit you, and you can where them to all the balls and dances you'll be invited to. Just make sure you that you don't untie these until you're alone." In a conspiratorial whisper, she added, "It will be our secret."

Handing her the rose, Madelyn could barely keep from squealing. "You really want me to have these?"

"I really do."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome. And I bet your mom's waiting for you by now. You'd better go meet up with her."

"I will. Thanks again!" Much happier than when she'd first arrived, Madelyn practically skipped away, clutching the rose her chest and hiding the "bow" in her clenched hands. Belle couldn't help smiling either as she carefully set the letter aside, wondering just how she would deliver it to Beast. Chip's tutoring sessions were going so well that she doubted she'd be needed when she returned. Her thoughts turning even more inward, she mused if Christmas weren't so far away, she'd somehow sneak it into his stocking and say Santa brought it along with the-

_What do you want for Christmas?_

Oh no. Not that memory. Not now.

Not now.

As she watched Madelyn leave, the gnawing discomfort returned. Once again, she pretended to smile as another clone of herself asked for her signature, a photo, and what her favorite color was.

* * *

Photographs taken, autographs signed, and a rather flamboyant dinner eaten, the Entourage was whisked back to the hotel. Alone in her darkened room, Belle found herself at the window, looking down at the world she was simultaneously ingrained in and exiled from. She kept staring at the stop light on the corner, watching the lights blink their Christmas-hued warnings to the invisible mass of pedestrians and army of headlights that kept pouring through the intersection. So much order from a handful of lights barely visible above the neon cosmos below.

She hated being alone.

Not because it made her self-conscious, because it didn't…although, if she were honest, she would admit to a moment's worth of jealousy as she watched Ariel and Eric murmuring to each other in the hotel corridor, the Entourage's code of decorum obviously forgotten with each step towards their room. But it was petty to be jealous; after all, she was engaged.

_To someone you don't-_

No, she hated being alone because her mind voiced its opinion during these brief bouts of quietness. She was almost thankful that the Entourage kept her so busy; it kept her conscience stifled so she could go on with the cycle of the day, a curtsey here, a smile there, a wave and a greeting to whoever happened to be in front of her.

Was this all there was, then?

Not living, not thriving, just…existing? Waiting for this drudgery to pass her by just in time for…what? What was there to look forward to?

Oh yes. She was getting married.

And then what? Happily ever…what? A dress, a ring, a frolic in bed, and then what? Back to the Entourage as a married peasant woman? Back to a school where she was forbidden to teach? Back to a college that she was forbidden to attend?

_I want so much more than they've got planned._

She rested her forehead against the window, the chill February air seeping through the glass, cooling the heat on her face. She closed her eyes, trying to push away all the poisonous thoughts that kept crowding her. That they all bore marks of truth made them that much more damning. Sighing, she opened her eyes and watched the window fog up for a moment from the heat of her breath. The sidewalk below disappeared, as did the people walking along. She mused what it would be like to disappear…

And then realized that she could.

Acting quickly before reason could sink in, she ran over to her bed and opened the goodie bag the Disney Store had sent along home with each princess, brimming with New York-specific merchandise. Praying that her idea would work, she pulled out the clothes from the bottom and began slipping embroidered overalls and a blouse over the casual clothes she was already wearing. She looked in the mirror across the room, and was relieved that the clothes didn't change. The human fashions always turned into painted versions whenever they touched Animasian skin, but over another layer of clothes, they retained their original look. Continuing with her quasi-metamorphosis, she then pulled her hair up and under a logo-ed baseball cap. Finally, she zipped up an oversized hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight, ensuring as little of her face was seen as possible. Satisfied with her reflection in the mirror, she grabbed her wallet and hotel key, confidently walked out of her room…

…and rounded the corner right into Susanna.

Neither woman spoke, and in that silence, Belle contemplated either making a run for it, which bordered on ludicrous, or simply turning back and heading to her room, surrendering to fate and the terrible predictability that would cling to the rest of her days.

Fortunately, neither option would be acted upon. Considering Belle for a moment longer, Susanna finally reached into her purse and pulled out a cellular phone. "Just in case," she said. "Manny's on my speed dial. Pound sign, then zero-one." She held out the phone to Belle, who still couldn't believe her luck. Before starting back to her room, Susanna smiled, then said simply, "Don't stay out too late."

And walked away.

Belle didn't hesitate a moment longer.

Keeping her head down, she took the stairs out to the lobby, glanced around for a moment to make sure no one had recognized her, then walked outside, welcoming the sting of the cold night air.

She was free.

No Entourage, no Ella, no apoplectic Alder, no ball gowns, no roses, no curtseys, no fiancé, no castles, no memories…just her, alone, and this wonderful, tumultuous, sleepless and enticing city.

And the people.

The _people._

She was accustomed to crowds, the mobs, the flooding hordes that pressed into her, demanding a smile, a touch, a stain of ink, caught in a flash and saved forever in a stranger's keepsake box. The people there came to her and left, indifferent lovers, remembering the moment but never returning the sentiment.

Here, in this tangle of concrete and flesh, she was inundated with the complexity of living that lay beyond the Magic Kingdom's moat. Here, people were simply people, with their own agendas, priorities, families. They weren't here for her; they, as a collective whole, didn't really care about her.

The moment's anonymity felt invigorating. And it was so apparent now that this wasn't Elisa's New York.

This was…real.

Loud and vibrant and crowded and eclectic and dirty and chaotic and larger than life and so _alive_. The streets teemed with people, the hundreds and thousands of heads bobbing up and down like a giant wave. There were so _many._In parkas, in suede coats, denim jackets, balaclavas, Prada, Gap, Salvation Army, so many, so different all and so together in this one city.

And best of all…no one was looking at her.

Correction: she _did_ garner a second look or two and more than a couple of whispers. But her appearance there on the street was no more odd than the Doomsday Man on the corner, his cigarette-laced cries of "Repent!" drawing momentary attention away from her, attention that would not return. She walked down the sidewalk in peace, no one asking for an autograph, pretending to know her, pestering her about Beast. They had their own lives to tend to, and she did not at all figure into the evening's activities.

It was liberating.

She walked on. The only care in her head was in remembering the path she took so she could retrace her steps back to the hotel. She wasn't running away, after all. Although the thought of never having to dress in that golden mess of fabric ever again was very nice to contemplate.

She began looking in the store windows she passed by, simply amazed at the variety they offered. Animasia may have supplied all that they needed, but the only time something truly new came along was when the humans unknowingly plopped a new kingdom in their midst. No one in Animasia had ever thought to build a chair this way, arrange music that way, craft a necklace just so.

One particular store caught her eye: a white cursive script over a deep red awning proudly boasted "Bolton's." The lit window displays had several mannequins in different evening gowns, though none would ever have met Ella's standards for modesty. Belle's gaze lingered on a simple black dress, the top cut into a halter style. It flared out as it touched the ground, and she imagined the fabric sweeping gently around her, rather than rigorously sticking to petticoats. Though the hem was low, she noticed a slit in the side of the gown that traveled almost all the way up the mannequin's leg. And that was when the irresistible and deliciously naughty idea struck her. Ella and Alder would probably have several heart attacks between them, but Gaston certainly wouldn't mind. She hurried into the store, kept her face down as much as possible and bought the smallest size dress they had.

Money wasn't that odd of a concept to her, she realized as she continued to browse store windows. She never stayed too long, simply because she wanted to see as much as possible. But as she kept passing grocery stores and drug stores, she realized how vital money was to human affairs.

In Animasia, if one wanted a loaf of bread, one went to the pantry, opened the door and there was a loaf of bread. Gaston brewed his ales and cultivated his vineyards because he wanted to, not because there was ever a shortage of beer or wine. Though the First Generation swore up and down how much better the lager was now that they had a craftsman, Belle suspected that the decades before Gaston arrived weren't that much drier.

But no one needed money to buy Gaston's ale, just as no one needed money for food or clothing or any sort of service rendered. Friends might barter, but that was because they could and wanted to, not because it was expected. Scrooge's money bin was a sort of ironic monument to everyone but him: vast amounts of wealth that stood stagnant from non-use.

But here…here money was needed for everything. Elaine had instructed everyone how to use their bank accounts when they started making money, and as a member of the Entourage, Belle was certainly earning her paycheck. But she hadn't needed to use any money until tonight, and she hadn't needed to buy the dress.

But food was necessary.

Medicine was necessary.

And they cost a lot, Belle realized after passing sign after storefront sign hawking the best deals in town, for milk, for aspirin, for something called ginseng. How did the humans afford everything? She wasn't so naïve to think that everyone got a fair shake, that there weren't those who where poor, hungry, suffering. Not everything she read were fairytales.

But there had to be enough money to build the towers that loomed overhead, had to be enough to furnish the store shelves, had to be enough to gild the lining of the empty violin case she almost tripped over. A young man stood on the corner of a street, playing enthusiastically for a small crowd of the curious. Belle immediately recognized the sprightly music from Vivaldi's _Gloria._ She hadn't heard this movement in years. It must have been a Christmas morning Mass at Notre Dame, unless Beast had wanted it played the night before at the Gala…

_What do you want for Christmas?_

Belle abruptly stopped reminiscing and started walking again. She wasn't carrying any cash, why get the guy's hopes up?

She tried so hard not to think that she almost missed the window display of books just a few feet away.

Lots of books.

Scads of books.

She hurried into the building under a sign that read "Barnes & Noble" and immediately knew she'd have a very hard time leaving.

While there possibly weren't as many books as there were in the library in the castle, there were many more kinds and varieties than she's ever been exposed to. Briefly regretting her early dress purchase, Belle wanted both hands to be able to hold as many as many printed pages as possible.

She enlisted the help of a service clerk who, though he first appeared quite uninterested to help her, upon getting a closer look at her suddenly sprung to life. He moved her from section to section, recommending titles and dismissing others as "popular tripe." Finally, she settled into the area between the novels and children's area, delightedly meandering between the two. Her biggest regret was that she wouldn't be able to take everything she wanted back, simply because she knew she's never be able to carry so much. After several well-spent hours and a couple of agonizing moments putting books back onto the shelves, she made her purchase and returned to the outside.

The night had grown colder. Belle knew she should head back to the hotel before too much time had passed, and she began heading the way she came, but curiosity stopped her again. On nearly every street she had passed a store called "Starbucks." Given their prolific nature, she had to see why so many of the same stores could exist so close to each other.

Upon the realization that it was just a streamlined café, Belle almost turned right around but realized that a cup of tea or coffee would be nice for the walk home, if just to keep her hands warm. She got in line just in time to hear the two girls ahead of her thoroughly abusing their professor for having the audacity to insinuate that Jane Austen was a mediocre writer at best and she didn't deserve the acclaim she always received. Belle wanted desperately to join in but refrained, knowing innately that she had probably already drawn enough attention to her that night. She contented herself by eavesdropping on their conversation, which turned from professor-bashing to a fevered review of 19th Century British literature for an upcoming exam.

As Belle walked under the streetlights, her bitterly black coffee keeping her hands warm, she vowed that she would find a way to attend college within the next year. Despite funds, despite the Entourage, despite the current ban on "Toon" education…she had to get into a school. Somehow. Weren't universities always priding themselves on shaping the future? Wouldn't shepherding an Animasian through higher education be remarkably enlightened?

She saw the canopy of the hotel just half a block away, and glad of it; her arms were finally starting to get tired from all the weight she was carrying. With just a little more luck, she would soon be back in her room, a cache of books at her disposal, and no one would be any the wiser.

"Abomination!"

Belle turned her head just in time to see a tall, pinched-looking man in a grayed shirt that read "Sons of Men," spewing biblical diatribes. "Be gone vile trickster, she-demon, cursed flotsam of hell…"

For a fleeting moment, Belle wondered if Ella had somehow paid this guy off to insult her. Then he grabbed her arm, skeletal fingers wrapping around her bicep, the intensity of hatred seething onto her. Instinct brought her other hand up, and she launched the hot coffee in his face. Sputtering, cursing in less formal language, he let go, and she ran right into one of the Floridian security guards. She heard him calling to the other guards for assistance, and he whisked her into the hotel lobby and then the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she saw the fanatic already in handcuffs and being questioned by at least three officers.

Inside the elevator, the guard looked her over, trying to ascertain any obvious injuries, which he would not find. Finally he asked, "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Thank you."

"They're gonna want to talk to you."

"Who?" she asked, not wanting a late-night confrontation with Ella.

"Alder and Dalton."

That wasn't much better.

Silence rode into the elevator and the pause gave her just enough time to wonder…what had just happened?

Then the door opened, and Belle was face-to-face with half the members of the Entourage.

"Into my room," Ella snapped, then turned, expecting to be followed.

Belle simply stood outside the elevator, refusing to let her evening end this way. "No." Out of the corner of her eye, she was gratified to see both Ariel and Aurora smile.

Ella froze. "What?"

"I have nothing to say to you. And I don't really care about anything you have to say to me. I'd just like to go to bed now."

"Little Beauty, I don't care one whit about your desires. Your selfishness already broken one man's heart. I hope you didn't do anything tonight to jeopardize your current relationship."

Belle heard Ariel gasp behind her, the sound reverberating in her ears as she clenched her jaw tightly. "I bought some books, Ella. Surely that isn't illicit."

"You may think so. But what if there were people watching you? What would it look like for a member of royalty to tramp herself down into street clothes and parade herself down seedy alleyways? You had absolutely no right to do this. It tarnishes everything that a princess represents."

Amid the ludicrous accusations, one thing stuck out. "I have no right? Ella, do you even have a clue why we are so popular? Have you ever paid attention to our alter egos? It's our duty to get into minor trouble. Sneaking away and defying authority is what made us memorable and not just pretty faces in pretty dresses. Jasmine snuck away from the palace to see the world. So did Ariel. And you- you ran away from your home to go to a party."

Ella stared at her for a cold minute before sniffing, "A ball. And that was hardly illicit."

"It was done because it was right. This isn't right. This isn't how it should be, paraded like royalty and hidden like convicts. It's not right."

"So we should have just let you rot in Animasia?" Alder said, huffing his way down the corridor. Armand followed a few paces behind, looking more thoughtful than severe. "This is the thanks we get for letting you out?"

"We should thank you for taking advantage of us?"

Alder simply gaped at her, seemingly muted by her audacity.

Armand chose that moment to step in. "All right everyone, good night. Ladies and gentlemen, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, please try to get some rest. Brian, go down to the bar and wait for me. And if you're feeling generous, which I know you're not, get me a gin and tonic. Belle, I need to talk to you."

The hallway emptied quickly and Belle was left alone with Armand. Her anger at Ella and Alder ebbed away, replaced with an embarrassment that anticipated another chastising. But she wasn't sorry. How could she be?

He motioned her to follow him and she did, finally stopping on the floor's common room. It was quiet now; after all, the Entourage had booked the entire floor precisely so they wouldn't be disturbed. Belle grimly mused how well sound carried up elevator shafts.

"I'm just curious," Armand finally began after sitting down in an armchair, "why sneak out? And put your bags down, Belle. They look like they weigh a ton."

She regarded him warily for a moment. "You're not going to confiscate these, are you?"

"Are there any drugs or mid-level weapons stashed away in there?"

She almost smiled. "No."

"Then what would I want with them? Enjoy your books. And why did you sneak out?"

She thought about that, trying to come up with an answer that sounded reasonable. "I had to."

"Why?"

He wasn't chiding, he wasn't angry; his voice and face simply read curiosity. "When would I have this chance again?" Belle asked quietly. "This is the first time since Integration that I actually felt integrated, not just like another attraction at the parks. And if I ever found myself with free time, which is laughable, I couldn't even get off property because we're restricted from any transportation services, thanks to Xanatos 'sneaking off' to that auto show up north. We're in the best known metropolis in the whole world and all we're going to do here is go to a Disney Store and see a Disney play. There is more to my life than simply being a movie character and synergizing with a corporate brand. See? I did my homework. I know all the right phrases and labels in our business model. I snuck away because I wanted to live, and not have my life dictated to me."

The last sentence echoed throughout the room, and she realized how loud she must have gotten. Armand didn't seem bothered at all. "Then why come back?"

She thought for a moment. "That's a very good question. I guess part of me was thinking rationally. Where would I go instead? Animasia is still my home, even with all its problems."

"And hopefully you were going to return my wife's cell phone."

"I didn't-"

"Susanna told me what you were up to right after you left."

"Oh."

"Yes. She seemed to think that you needed some time to yourself, and it would be beneficial for you to get out on the town. Obviously, she doesn't remember having teenage daughters as vividly as I do."

Belle wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but she finally heard exasperation wearing into his voice. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

"I know." He sat forward in the chair, clasping his hands underneath his chin while his elbows rested on his knees. "But you have to realize that New York is not the best place to cut your teeth on the world outside the parks. And that lunatic bigot was exactly the sort of person we're trying to protect you from."

"He couldn't have hurt me."

For the first time that whole day, Armand's voice grew sharp. "I know that all the company papers say you Animasians can't be killed or even injured like we can. But Belle, you are smart enough to know that men have plenty of ways to hurt women. Even those fairy tales that you love so much are full of horrible things. What possibly could have made you think the real world was safer than fantasy?"

He made sense; he made perfect sense. It was embarrassing how much he made sense, and how truly negligent she had been in her quest for freedom.

But she still wasn't sorry.

"You're right," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. He was right, and she had to tell him so. Then she looked directly at him and asked, "Then when will we be allowed to go off property? And not with the Entourage, not with some accompanying media circus, but just…as us?"

Armand's brief flash of anger had mellowed into a sympathetic resignation. "I don't know."

Belle nodded, expecting nothing more. "Am I done?"

"One more thing."

She braced herself.

"Are you all right?"

She looked up at him and was shocked to see the paternal worry that had often crossed her own father's face reflecting back at her now. "Yes."

"Really?"

She nodded, then paused, remembering. "What are the Sons of Men?"

"From the shirt that idiot was wearing?"

"Yes."

Armand sighed again. "A bunch of zealots who think you lot are the reason for all the problems in the world."

"Why?"

"The real reason?"

"Please."

"The long answer is that they believe that magic is satanic, and since your whole world is magical, all of you are in league with the devil, you are going to corrupt the pure hearted and spread your evil across humanity. That's what the pamphlet on that idiot said anyway."

Belle squirmed a bit, thinking of Chernabog. It was a very good thing the humans didn't know about the Night of Dissension.

"Short answer is that they're a group of bigots who are running out of people to hate and are picking on the new kids on the block. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes. Really," she added, still seeing doubt on Armand's face. "I've been through much worse." And she could have kicked herself for letting that slip.

Fortunately, he misunderstood. "Ella's a handful, isn't she?"

"That's very diplomatic of you," Belle laughed, grateful that he hadn't asked what she really meant. She looked towards the door. "May I?"

"Of course. And Belle?"

"Yes?"

"Things will get better. Sooner or later, they'll get better for all you folks."

She wanted so badly to believe him.

* * *

Alder announced over breakfast that Belle would remain in her hotel room while the rest of the Entourage toured a few landmarks, commenting that a bit of discipline should help cool her heels. Ella sat taller and kept smirking throughout the rest of the meal, but Belle couldn't have cared less. She had already seen a purer New York than any of them would be allowed to see and she had a stack of unopened books waiting for her back in her room; where, exactly, was the punishment? However, she knew well enough not to say that.

And the books would keep her mind occupied, something that was impossible with the Entourage. She had no desire to dwell on her dreams from the previous night, where a skeletal man kept lunging at her from the shadows.

Back in her room, Belle looked over her pile of books and finally settled on _Charlotte's Web._ She'd save the more mature tales for when she returned to Animasia and had time to really savor them. Before she settled down, though, she heard Alder talking to the security guard in front of her door.

"…she doesn't leave her room, she only gets room service. When the rest of the group from France arrives, she doesn't see anyone, especially the ape, until we get to the theater. And make sure she gets into the limo."

_Charming man_, Belle thought. She looked up at the dress she had purchased and smiled. Oh, she'd get into the limo.

* * *

"No."

"Pardon?"

"You can't wear that."

Hours later, she stood in front of the same security guard that had helped her the night before, and it was obvious that he was much more discomfited by her attire than pummeling into possibly armed lunatics. Part of her felt badly for him, as though this was a poor way to repay his valor, but she certainly wasn't trying to do anything against him.

She decided on the coy route. "Really? I thought I was already wearing it."

"You know what I mean. That's not the dress you always wear."

"No. It's not. But if I have to take this dress off and put the other one on, not only will we be late, we will miss the entire first act. Do you know how long it takes to put five layers of petticoats on?"

He wasn't amused. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"No, I'm not. Your responsibility was to make sure I didn't leave my room until now and make sure I entered the limousine. You performed admirably in the first task, and you're going to succeed just as well in the second. It is not your duty to make sure I adhere to dress code. And we _will_ be late if I have to change."

Five minutes later, she was in her limo, alone, rolling away from the hotel. While she would have preferred Gaston to be with her, to talk with her, to reassure that she did look all right, she was relieved that she could walk into the theater independently without an escort. She certainly looked forward to seeing Gaston, but…the previous night's journey had definitely given her a taste for independence.

She caught her reflection in the tinted glass and sighed. While it seemed like a good idea at the time, she wasn't too sure about her outfit anymore. Yes, it was wonderful not to wear that stupid ball gown, but…she also didn't look like herself. Dress aside, she'd gone out of her way to tame down her bangs just so she didn't look like all those dolls and toys bearing her likeness. She didn't want to be just her character, she didn't want to be known as just her character, she wanted to be herself.

But this person looking back at her…Belle wasn't sure who she was, either.

She sighed and leaned back into her seat. If nothing else, the theater-goers would definitely be able to distinguish the stage Belle and the real Belle.

The limo slowed as they neared a large crowd, clapping, hollering, waving. Numerous television cameras and equipment lined the sidewalks, and from where she was sitting, a long transmitter completely blocked her view of the buildings down the street. She leaned up front and asked the driver if there was some sort of demonstration going on.

"Red carpets are always like this," he said dismissively.

"We're at the theater?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded. "I'll be able to pull up in a few minutes and let you walk out."

She looked back at the mob, dumbstruck. Surely all these people weren't going to be in the theater? There were just too many. They were just here to watch her stroll into the theater? How ludicrous was that?

The car pulled ahead, stopped. Belle looked out and saw a red carpet, lined with all sorts of people and flashbulbs, waiting for her to make her entrance. She almost considered not getting out, just waiting in the limo until they all went away. Realizing that was hardly practical, she took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and opened the door.

She stepped out of the limousine…

The camera flashes around her strobed reality; she could only see the crowd in the brevity of moments, each one brilliantly illuminated and falling into darkness, time skipping the downbeat and moving ahead too quickly to see the in-betweens. Disorientation stunted her, and she didn't see Gaston coming up to her until his lips were on hers, his arms wrapping around her body with the urgency of proving a point, rather than the tender joy of reunion. It was an insistent, foreign kind of love, one that demanded attention.

And received it. If the cameras had been anything before…

Lightning was incomparable to the barrage of energy streaming forth from the media. The heat of flash bulbs flushed her skin, and she suddenly felt herself being tugged away, not moving on her own accord to the safety of the theater lobby.

Before she could even register what had just taken place, Brian Alder hovered to them, looking paler than Snow White on midwinter's eve. "Why did you do that?"

Gaston's eyes narrowed to slits. "We're getting married."

"But why did you do that? Now? In front of the entire world? Do you have any idea-"

"I. Don't. Care. What. You. Think."

"Well, that's obvious," Alder said, the constant impatience he always tried to mask finally erupting. "You don't give a damn about anything anyone's tried to do for you, how we helped you get here. At the very least you could have done was to watch out for her. Do you have any clue how the tabloids are going to rip her apart now?"

"Tabloids?"

"Gossip papers," Belle said quietly, speaking for the first time since entering the lobby. "Printed versions of the things Ella breathes. I'm used to it."

"No, you're not. Not like this. It's going to be…good god, it's going to be a nightmare."

"Now that's positive."

"Shut up. You're a meddling, imbecilic Neanderthal and you have more biceps than brains-"

"Gaston!"

Belle's horrified gasp startled both men, and stopped Gaston's clenched fist in mid-swing. He carried through lightly, bending his arm around Belle's waist innocently instead of colliding with Alder's solar plexus.

Alder saw nothing. "What?"

"He…" Belle looked between the two men, still feeling the heat from the flashbulbs and the confusion from the human maelstrom just a few paces away. "He tickled me and it was startling."

With a heaving sigh of disgust, Alder shook his head. "Mature, really mature. Look, the curtain's going to rise in about five minutes. I was going to take you up to your seats, but now I think damage control is in order. One of the ushers will take you up." Still shaking his head, he disappeared into the crowd to look for the rest of the PR staff.

"Insufferable little man," Gaston said, drawing Belle closer. "But this is our night, so we should forget about him. You, my love, look incredible."

She didn't hear the compliment. All she could see was the explosive force seething down his forearm, replayed over and over in her mind, thinking with brawn, not brains. And then, in just a flash in her mind's eye, she saw the cool and shrewd fictional Gaston ready to achieve his ends by any means necessary. The two together, the fire and ice canceled each other out and all that was left standing in front of her was Gaston, her fiancé, bartender extraordinaire who still had no right to pummel an annoying gnat of a man because adding aggravated assault to the evening would make it even more exciting. "Gaston, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Clearly not the words he expected to hear, Gaston cocked his head back. "Belle, have you ever cursed before?"

"I don't know. But that should reinforce the gravity of the situation. Were you about to hit him?"

"It's not like he didn't have it coming."

There were a thousand things she wanted to say to him, each one shriller and more biting than the previous. And all she could do was walk away because nothing that she could have said to him would have impacted him the way she wanted it to. So without a word, she brushed past him and walked over to where the servants were still milling about, hoping for an ounce of civilized discourse.

* * *

It wasn't until they were seated and the vaguely familiar prologue began that Belle fully realized what she was about to witness: the expected and time-honored story of the love that a Belle had for a Beast. Their perfect, if mildly quarrelsome, love that transcended the barriers of physicality and even death to triumph in the end. A love that screamed at the hypocrisy of the newly exposed relationship Belle and The Villain shared. A love that was, in fact, just a story.

Given all that had happened in the previous twenty-four hours, Belle thought she did a remarkable job of feigning interest in the play. Right up until the part where "Gaston" began pursuing "Belle" in earnest.

"What do you know about my dreams, Gaston?"

Nothing.

_What do you want for Christmas?_

And she couldn't hide from it any longer.

_School had just begun again, and the first week's worth of homework assignments lay stacked in front of her with just slightly more organization than a pile of freshly raked leaves. She'd gotten lazy over the summer; the weekend would be wasted returning to the more stringent schedule of teaching. With a slight groan, she grabbed the nearest answer key and prepared to be terrifically disappointed in how little math the children had retained over the break._

_She wasn't sure when Beast came into the room; one minute she was ready to scream that 8x8 did_not_in fact, equal 16, and the next moment he was simply there, on the other end of the sofa, a book in one hand so as not to disturb her, his other hand comfortingly draped around her middle. His presence calmed her, and she was soon cheerfully drawing red "x's" all through the homework sheets._

_Afternoon shadows lengthened; tea quietly appeared in her favorite large mug. The only way to have tea properly, in her opinion- it held in the tea's warmth and overall goodness much longer than the dainty things Ella served her tea in at the weekly afternoon socials with the other girls of Animasia. Except they weren't just "girls," for that would be much too improper. They were all "The Ladies of The Kingdoms." High titles and bone-cold tea._

_"Stupid socials," Belle murmured, circling a misused "their" for "there." Math was mercifully done for the moment and she'd moved on to a stack of ill-conceived and poorly written essays which slaughtered the interpretations of some of her favorite books._

_Beast looked up from "The Count of Monte Cristo." "Hmm?"_

_"Why don't the princes get together and socialize every week?"_

_He cocked a puzzled eyebrow. "What?"_

_"Ella arranges high teas every week for the ladies of Animasia. Why don't you guys do anything like that?"_

_"What would we talk about?"_

_"Guy stuff."_

_"Do you even know what guy stuff is?"_

_"I don't want to know, do I?"_

_"No." He grinned. "Probably not the same topics you discuss at your gatherings."_

_"That actually might not be so bad."_

_"Remember you said that the next time Hercules drinks too much ambrosia at the Christmas Gala."_

_"Oh."_

_"Exactly."_

_A shared, knowing smile settled them back into their respective reading materials. The academic mood broken, however, Belle set down her "Really Boring Book I Read Over Summer Vacation" essay and reclined back into his chest, rising and falling with his steady breath. As familiar as he was to her, she still marveled at how powerful even his mere breathing could be. His might, his prowess was always something he downplayed, even tried to hide from her as well as the rest of the Kingdoms. Acutely aware of his "otherness," even in the cacophonic mayhem of Animasia, he maintained a courtly, refined demeanor that Malory would have praised, but more importantly, kept the biting gossips at bay. And sometimes…well, more than sometimes…she wished he wouldn't. His grace, his majesty radiated from the hidden ferity that gleamed its way to the surface. Romantic pursuits evaporated his poised, controlled gait in a bound of unbridled energy as he leapt through the foyer and up the stairs when she already had a head start. And if he would catch her, when she let him catch her, he could hold her so gently that the wind could not caress her so lightly, yet the sure power that she felt in the tensing of his arms thrilled her. She could hear the magic of their world and the wilds of an unseen nature in the undertone of his breath as her musings brought her back to the present._

_She must have had some sort of dreamy content on her face, for Beast stopped reading once again. "What?"_

_"I love you."_

_It wasn't something they often said to each other as it was almost unnecessary; they knew how the other felt intuitively, for it was the first emotion they had understood. Nevertheless, the simple statement brought an instant glow to Beast's face. "I love you," he returned, drawing her closer. Dumas was instantly forgotten in an unceremonious heap on the floor._

_Slowly running his hand down her arm, he paused at reaching her hand. "You're cold."_

_"It's just from holding that pen for so long. I'm fine."_

_Not mollified, he gently disentangled from her and stood, walking over to the fireplace and setting more logs on the low-burning kindling. Before returning back to the sofa, though, he paused as he watched the wind skid along the copper-colored trees in the valley, the branches bending in clustered waves after each gust._

_"What is it?" Belle asked, seeing him start to tense._

_"Something's brewing," he rumbled,_

-and she should have known right then and there she should have known something was wrong and kept her mouth shut she should have known to trust his instincts and they could have alerted the Kingdoms and the Exiles would have been thwarted and they could still be-

_his body suddenly rigid as though trying to listen beyond what could be heard._

_"A thunderstorm?"_

_"No." The moment passed, his voice lightened. "Winter must be coming early, that's all. Now," he grinned slyly, returning next to her. Anticipation pounded as he drew near, then deftly he picked her up and reclined in the sofa, laying her onto his chest in a single fluid movement. The collar of his shirt opened under her face, and she nuzzled the fur below her cheek as he began to stroke her hair._

_In the bliss of contentment, she almost didn't hear his next question. "Speaking of which…"_

_"What?"_

_"Well, with winter coming, Christmas will soon be upon us."_

_"That's usually how it works."_

_"So what do you want for Christmas?"_

_"Red correction pens," she said without thinking. "I'm going to be out by the end of the semester."_

_He laughed, and she loved the way his mirth swept through his entire body, the way he felt underneath her. "Red pens it is."_

_"And what about you?" Belle asked. "What do you want for Christmas?"_

_Thinking for a moment, Beast finally answered, "Socks."_

_"Socks?"_

_"Socks. I don't have any."_

_"I didn't know you needed any."_

_"I don't know if I do. I'd like to find out."_

_"But you have paws."_

_"And snow is very cold when is gets stuck to my fur. Socks would take care of that."_

_"Shoes would be better."_

_"Socks look much more comfortable."_

_"I suppose they are. All right," she said thoughtfully. "Socks."_

_"Which reminds me- I need to talk to Cogsworth about the decorations. I've been thinking about some changes from the previous years."_

_"Like what?"_

_"Well…" His voice grew a little quieter, gaining a reflective tone. "I want four stockings hung over the fireplace in the library. One with socks, one filled to the brim with red pens. One with a teddy bear, one with blocks."_

_Smiling through the first two, the last ones first bewildered her, then realization slowly took hold. She propped herself up on her arms to look at him. "For…whom?"_

_"For our family. That's what I- what I really want for Christmas. A family."_

_He had to be joking. He couldn't possibly… He knew that… "Well, you should've told me in March," she said lightly, praying that this was a joke. "Then we would have had time. Of course, I wouldn't want to be the one to tell the Archdeacon why we had to get married so quickly…" Belle's voice trailed off as the intensely solemn demeanor Beast wore fell into one of sadness. "You're serious."_

_"Yes."_

_"Beast…you know we can't."_

_"Why?" He sat up as she slid off next to him. A demanding plead had jumped into his voice, and she found it infuriating and heartbreaking at the same time. "Just because no one has yet?"_

_"Yes! Exactly. Don't you think that there would already be a slew of children running around here if Animasians could bear offspring?"_

_"Maybe they're not trying hard enough."_

_"Not the way Jasmine tells it," Belle said, distracted._

_Starting to retort, Beast paused, hearing the words just said. "Is_that_what you talk about at those parties?"_

_"What? Oh." She blushed, starting to feel really uncomfortable. "Um…sometimes. If champagne's been poured. And only until Ella starts clucking her tongue about the impropriety of the conversation. But she only does that after the conversation has worn itself out and she's said a few choice words."_

_"And what do you say?"_

_"Nothing, because I feel like an inexperienced ninny and pretend to listen while planning lessons in my head. I don't say anything. But I do listen sometimes."_

_"So that's why you never look at me when you come home from those things."_

_She found it difficult to look at him now. He sensed it, backed away. He reached for the back of his neck, scratching his thick mane, either agitated or embarrassed, she couldn't tell out of the corner of her eye. Finally: "Do you want children?"_

_"Beast, I've never even considered the possibility-"_

_"Then why do you teach?"_

_"Because-" And stopped. Why_did_she teach? To impart knowledge. Yes, but that wasn't all of it. She had no desire to set up adult classes. She loved to teach, but not adults. It was the children she loved spending time with, the ways their eyes lit up when they finally understood a division problem, the way they beamed after receiving a good grade on a difficult homework assignment…_

…_the way a little hand held hers, curled around her first three fingers but no more, trusting those three fingers to guide them right…_

…_the way her name sounded in a happy-go-lucky voice, a voice that didn't understand worry or regret, a voice filled only with the carefree and joy of living…_

…_the way two eyes could ask so much without saying anything, and how she would do anything to fulfill that unspoken request…_

_It was as though the world had been upended on her, yet it was crashing down around her the_right_way, the way it always should have been. The void that she thought filled by her teaching was just a patch- a step in the right direction, but not the final destination. She saw that looking at him now, staring into those beautiful, beautiful piercing eyes of his, similar eyes that would one day look back at her, squinting in first light, to see her for the first time…_

_"You're right," she whispered._

_He leaned in towards her, taking her hands into his. "Belle?"_

_"You're right. And I promise you'll get your wish. Not_this_Christmas," she added, color again rising into her cheeks. "But a Christmas will come, and I will do everything to make sure you…and I…get our wish." And then a blur, a blur of dizzying happiness so overwhelming she never knew that emotion until that moment, with a promise whispered…_

_And she saw herself weeks later, adorned in satin and sapphires, clutching a small, hand-made parcel to her chest, entering a darkened library in anticipation of a lifelong promise…_

Another promise broken.

"Do you realize what you could have done?"

Jolted, Belle focused back towards the stage just in time to see "Belle" get chased out of the West Wing by…a man in a wig and an overbite.

This was silly, if not downright asinine. Why was she here, wasting her time on yet another session of imposed torture? And now the whole world knew that this story was nothing but a sham, thanks to Gaston's egregious lack of manner and tact. Love did not conquer all; love was only real in the storybooks. One very public kiss annihilated the idea of true love, and the living vessel of virtue and goodness was only a masquerade on an old fashioned trollop.

_And in my twisted face  
There's not the slightest trace  
Of anything that even hints at kindness_

Of course, this Beast sings. It's a goddamned musical, why wouldn't he sing?  
_Hopeless  
As my dream dies  
As the time flies  
Love a lost illusion  
Helpless  
Unforgiven_

Reality started to bend; she'd forgiven him long ago for the Night of Dissension. That hadn't been him. But she never forgave him for abandoning her. Without a word.

Without a word.

_No passion could reach me  
No lesson could teach me  
How I could have loved her and make her love me too  
If I can't love her, then who?_

She was vaguely aware of the fact that she had left her seat and was sneaking out to the door.

Gaston didn't follow.

_Long ago, I should have seen  
All the things I could have been  
Careless and unthinking I moved onward_

Even muted, the hallway lights glared at her, sirens of light blasting her theater-dimmed eyes and searing into her darkened heart, a heart perceived to have abandoned love in favor of pleasure.

The last refuge of distressed women appeared before her, and she quickly slipped into the ladies' room.

_No pain could be deeper  
No life could be cheaper  
No point anymore if I can't love her_

Slamming the door of a stall shut, she slumped against the side, raising a hand to her face to brush away loose strands of hair. As her palm grazed her cheek, she startled to find it slicked with salt water. Her fingers seemed to act of the own volition as they searched the rest of her face, finding more tears that had escaped. Shaking now, the tears continued to pour out once they had found release. Huddled in the stall, with the overhead speakers crying out for her love, she sobbed.

_No spirit could win me  
No hope left within me  
Hope I could have loved her and that she'd set me free  
But it's not to be  
If I can't love her  
Let the world be done with me_

The act ended, and the herds of women began their sprint to the restroom. Hearing the shuffling wave of footsteps coming down the hall, Belle coughed back the remaining tears, dried her eyes on the back of her hands, and with as much dignity as she could muster, hurried out of the bathroom, ignoring the whispers that trailed her back to the private hallway leading to the box seats.

Lumiere was waiting for her. She could barely look at him without feeling a renewed stinging behind her eyes, so she simply looked down, waiting for the sensation to pass and take her seat so she could be all smiles, all laughter, the paradigm of graciousness amid a flurry of lurid questioning sure to follow the performance.

Gentle hands encircled her shoulders, comforting and shushing away the tears. "Hush, hush, ma belle mademoiselle," Lumiere whispered. "You don't need to go back there. You don't need to do that to yourself."

"And what should I do then?"

"Come with me, my lady."

"Lumiere, I'm not a member of the castle anymore. I'm not the lady of the manor or whatever you think to call it-"

"You never stopped, Belle. Now here, put this on." She looked down as he wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. "It's chilly outside. And follow me."

She did, and he led her away from bustle of intermission, down hidden VIP stairs and outside the theater to an awaiting limo. He held the door open for her, then spoke quietly to the driver. She saw them exchange a handshake, though later she realized Lumiere had just handsomely tipped the driver. The car rolled away, carrying her safely and anonymously back to the hotel.

* * *

Belle didn't even remember picking up the book; it was more a defensive measure than anything, her mind equating printed text as a balm for a wounded psyche. She didn't even realize what she was reading until she was a chapter in; then of course, she had to go back and reread what she had read automatically scanned over to process and, with a sigh of relief as she ordered room service, enjoy it.

A children's book with larger text and spacing, she read the _Harry Potter_book at a good speed, savoring it but getting well into the meat of the story as she sipped some middling tea. She was fascinated by the current chapter, and the book had diverted her attention very well from the earlier events of the evening.

_"Sir-Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something? What do you see when you look in the mirror?"_

The knock on the door stopped her reading. She eyed the door warily, then reluctantly put the book down and went to see who was outside.

Less than thrilled with the visitor, she nevertheless opened the door for him, though she drew her robe closer over her bed clothes before she would let him see her. "Were you going to show off your combination punch or were you just going to knock him out with an uppercut?"

"Come on, Belle," Gaston said, exasperation in his voice. He followed her into the room, sitting down beside her in bed. "He just pushed me too far tonight. You're right: I shouldn't have tried to hit him. But I don't think I'd be sorry if I had. That little twerp ruined what could have been a great night for us."

She thought back the frenzied lights flashing around her as Gaston planted a proprietary kiss on her. "You could have told me what you were planning."

"You know me- I'm just full of surprises."

"Yes. All sorts."

"So why are you really upset?"

He was certainly astute, she'd never deny that. Stalling, she simply answered, "It's just been a long weekend, that's all."

"Didn't feel like going to the wrap party?"

"Not really."

"You could have told me you were leaving."

"I know. I'm sorry. I…well, I really didn't want you to see me."

"Why?"

"I was a bit…emotional."

"I know."

That caught her off guard. "What?"

"Lumiere told me that he put you in a limo back to the hotel."

"He did?"

Gaston nodded. "I can't say I'm surprised, given everything that happened last night."

She almost laughed. He thought she was upset about _that?_That nothing? She quickly realized though that it was a good thing he believed that and not… So much the better then. Still, she wasn't about to lie. "It wasn't that big of a deal, Gaston."

"Someone attacked you and it's not a big deal?"

"He didn't attack me. I've been attacked before and trust me, they're not the same."

"He could've hurt you."

"He didn't."

Gaston looked at her with admiration. "You're one heck of a woman, you know that? I bet most women would've lost their heads in a situation like that."

"Give us a little credit, dear."

"I'm just saying I have one heck of a woman. And I can't wait to get you back to Animasia."

"Really? I'd love to stay."

"Why?"

With a wistful smile, she stood and walked over to the window to see night life bustling again. "It's an amazing city, Gaston. I know you really didn't get to see it. Well, none of us really got a chance to see it."

"Except you."

"A bit more, yes. And that's why they didn't want to allow us to see the city. There's so much to do here, to see, to get involved in. There's so much beyond anything Animasia has, it's almost frightening. But it's wonderful, too. I'd love to stay. Or at the very least, come back again soon. In fact…we could honeymoon here."

"I thought we were going to go to Europe?"

The words she spoke seemed to tumble out of her mouth before she had a chance to fully process their meaning. "There's time to go to Europe. Gaston, we have all the time in the world. We'll get there eventually. But we haven't even seen a fraction of this city, or a real play for that matter. We don't even have to wait for our honeymoon. Let's start now!"

"Now?"

"Yes! We could sneak away and not go back to Animasia. Gaston- let's elope!"

"What?"

The statement shocked her as much as it visibly confounded Gaston. But if they were going to get married, why not now?

What was there to lose?

"Why not? We're here- we're away from Animasia and all the problems there. Let's get married now. We'll find a notary or a justice of the peace or something. We'd be the first Animasians wed in America. And we could stay here. I could go to Columbia and you could open a bar here- think of how celebrated you'd be: the first Animasian to open a business in New York. Think of how popular you'd be."

"It does sound pretty good," Gaston admitted.

"Then let's do it."

"No, Belle."

The momentum came to a screeching halt. "No?"

"That's not how it should be."

In a suddenly reserved tone, Belle asked, "How should it be then?"

"Not by sneaking away. Don't you want to be married with all your friends around you, back in the home you know and love? Don't you want that, Belle?"

"Yes," came the automatic reply.

"There. You see how much better it will be that way? Although…" His voice trailed off into slyness as he circled his arm around her waist, his hand sinking lower than she'd ever dared allow. "…we don't have to wait for everything."

Her head whipped up to see a beckoning, confident smile. This was all he could think about? She'd just offered her companionship, her dreams, her ambitions, the rest of her life to him at a moment's notice and this was all he could think about?

"It's late."

The coolness in her voice was unmistakable. "I just went too far, didn't I?"

"Yes. Good night." She stared at him as he withdrew his hand, his arm, his body away from her. She remained standing until the door shut behind him and she felt-

-safe?-

-comfortable enough to return to bed. She picked up her book, scanned the page and found the paragraph where she'd left off.

_"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"_

She read the next line. Reread to make sure she had read it correctly. Read it again. The line then blurred, so she closed the book, afraid to cry on the pages.

* * *

"I was a jerk last night."

Belle didn't even glance up from the almost-packed suitcase on the bed as Gaston began his apology. "I was totally out of line and I promise it won't happen again."

"Gaston," she sighed, sitting down on the bed and taking his hands into hers. She looked at him before starting, reflecting. Last night was over, the past long since done. She saw her future right in front of her, and she had to say there were many worse possibilities she could be confronting. Beast was her past, Gaston her future. The past may intrude…but the past over. "Neither one of us was at our best last night, probably because we were doing our best to avoid talking about what was really bothering us." Gaston started to speak, but she beat him to it. "For the record…I want it to happen again…just not yet."

Confused he looked at her for a minute until realization took hold. "Deal," he said with a broad grin, which promptly turned into a mock pout. "This is going to be the longest eight months of my life."

Belle returned the smile. "It'll go by quickly."

A knock at the door sounded before Gaston could retort. Belle answered, thoroughly dismayed to discover Alder waiting in the hallway. He brushed by her before she could say anything. Gaston stood immediately, fingers already curling into fists. "Your secret's out," Alder announced stiffly to both of them.

That was beyond obvious. "Good," Belle replied. "Now I need to finish-"

"You have been dismissed from the Entourage."

She couldn't help smiling, which seemed to further annoy Alder. "Even better."

"And the two of you will star in your own TV series about your upcoming nuptials."

"What?"

There was definitely a snarky pleasure that crossed Alder's face as he explained to them, "A camera crew will follow you through all the important decisions pertaining to your wedding. The series will culminate in your live, on-air wedding."

Belle stared at Alder, the weight of his words sinking in. "You're turning our marriage into a televised spectacle?"

"Just the wedding."

"Why-"

"He started it." And with that, he tossed a newspaper on the bed and left before anymore could be said.

Gaston watched Alder leaving, cracking his knuckled the entire time. "If he 'accidentally' tripped down the stairwell and all our luggage just happened to pile up on him-"

"No, Gaston." But she was smiling. "That might be a little too apparent."

"I suppose." He picked up the paper Alder had left for them. "What the hell?"

Belle came around to his side, then let out the sigh she'd been holding since she first stepped out of the limo.

It wasn't a regular newspaper but one of the tabloids. The entire front page was filled with their red carpet kiss, and a title above screamed "Beastly Beauty! What Happened to a Tale as Old as Time? Our Exclusive Interview Inside!"

They both stared at the cover in silence, neither turning the page. Finally Gaston said, "That is one incredible dress."

Belle smiled ruefully. "Thanks."

"Good thing it has an incredible woman inside." He tossed the paper aside, drew her to him and held her. "It'll be all right."

"I know."

"You're one heck of a woman."

"I know."

He grinned. "I'm rubbing off on you. You about ready to go?"

She nodded. "I just need to find a bit more room for a couple books. I'll be out in a few minutes. Actually…" She scanned the room for the small stack of books she'd had trouble fitting in her suitcase. Finding them, she brought them back to Gaston. "Would you mind seeing if these will fit in your luggage?"

"No problem."

"Thank you."

He left after a quick kiss, and Belle returned to her suitcase.

Except…

Two books hadn't made it into her luggage yet, and she didn't plan to take either with her. Thinking she'd given Gaston enough time to hustle back into his room, Belle left her own room, _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ in one hand, Madelyn's booklet slipped into the dust cover, a brief note explaining both in her other hand.

The corridor was rife with suitcases, trunks, hangers and garment bags. Fortunately, the person she was looking for wasn't too far away. "Lumiere!"

The manservant turned. Belle pressed the book and the note in his hands. "Please give these to him," she asked, wanting to smile but not quite managing it. "I was asked to give him one and I think…I think he would enjoy the other."

Without questioning, Lumiere simply took the two and slipped them into his satchel. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"Always."

She turned back into her room and closed the door, remembering the last few minutes in this glorious mess of a city before returning to Animasia, before bowing to fate, before facing the future.

* * *

_For you non-Harry Potter fans, Dumbledore responds to Harry's question with, "Warm, woolen socks."_


	14. Smoke and Mirrors

**Copyright notice:** I own nothing of Disney, not even a measly stock share. "Star Wars" dialogue is the property of Lucasfilm, which isn't really fair, since George Lucas doesn't have a clue what made his films so popular.

Smoke and Mirrors

Early afternoon sunlight flit cheerily past linen drapes, illuminating the dining room with a false sense of peace. A handsome luncheon sat on the dining room table, a hollow gesture of courtesy rather than genuine hospitality as the food remained completely untouched: ice melting into diluted lemonade, bread and cheese drying out on oversized platters. The attention was not on food but rather the gathering storm about to erupt in the living room.

Five tabloids lay spread out on the coffee table, each representing a week's worth of lies, half-truths, and gossipy conjecture. The staying power that the "story" of the supposed love triangle between Gaston, Belle and Beast was phenomenal; the whole world seemed more interested in the tale of betrayed love as the weeks went by and the Magic Kingdom maintained its silence. Not that Mickey thought that anyone in Animasia should comment on the private affairs of its citizens; hence the reason for the luncheon.

Ella sat in an easy chair, rigidly poised as she defiantly kept her silence. Minnie sat on the couch across from her, while Mickey stood behind the couch, trying to stare a confession out of Ella. The silence had stretched on for minutes, ever since Mickey had tossed the papers in front of Ella, waiting for an explanation.

Though she refused to look at either mouse, Ella finally said, "The articles are from anonymous sources. There's no indication it was from me."

"That's a crock," Mickey flatly stated, coming around the couch and grabbing the oldest tabloid with the picture of Belle and Gaston's red carpet kiss. Flipping through the pages, he found a passage and began to read, "'It's hard to say when they began seeing each other, since it was all terribly clandestine. It must have been several months at least that Belle and Gaston went on seeing each other behind Beast's back, the poor dear. We all wondered why she suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. Of course, it all made sense when Gaston and Belle arrived arm-in-arm at the Christmas Gala that year.'" Mickey looked up, throwing the paper down on the table. "The one smidgen of truth in that whole article could only have been known by an Animasian who was at the Christmas Gala. The night this was written, only the Entourage and castle dwellers were available for comment. Since no one in the castle even suspects Belle of two-timing-"

"Are you sure about that?" Ella interrupted.

"Yes. So that leaves the Entourage. And funnily enough, no one that I talked to saw you for a good half-hour at the wrap party after the play."

"Belle went missing during the play."

"Ella, why in Walt's good name would Belle talk to the international media about her private life when no one in Animasia knows what happened between her and Beast?"

"She likes the attention."

Mickey's eyes narrowed with disgust. "You've got to be kidding. When did you actually start believing all the lies you're telling me?"

"How dare you-"

"Yes, I dare. I've let you get away with this nonsense for way too long."

"You let me? Mouse, you never let anyone do anything they wanted to until this January. And you just can't stand the fact that everyone in Animasia is having the time of their lives after being holed up for decades on end."

"That has nothing to do with this."

"It has everything to do with this! You never wanted us to have anything to do with human society-"

"Because this would happen!" Mickey exclaimed, gesturing to the table full of tabloids.

"This is what she deserves."

"For what? What is going on in that big head of yours that justifies-"

"Mickey."

Startled, both Mickey and Ella turned towards Minnie, studying them both intently. "You're going to be late for your presentation with Nicholas."

"It can wait."

"It shouldn't. You go."

"Min-"

"Go."

Mickey glared at Ella, then reluctantly headed toward the door. "We're not done."

"If you say so," Ella said, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, thought the better of it, then turned and left. Minnie watched him go, then turned her attention back to the princess. "Ella-"

"What?' she snapped.

"I need your help in the kitchen."

As though flabbergasted by the request, Ella only sputtered, "What? Oh…all…all right," and hesitatingly followed Minnie out to the kitchen.

A pile of the day's dishes lay neatly stacked on the counter next to the sink. Minnie added the barely-touched tea ware next to them and began drawing water. "If you wouldn't mind drying," Minnie said, handing Ella a towel.

"I…" Finally, sense leaped back onto her tongue. "Do you really need me to do this? Don't you have a dishwasher?"

"We do, but it's not very thorough." Minnie paused here, knowing that Ella could see through such a flimsy excuse- of course the dishwasher worked fine. Recalling the past, Minnie continued, "I always prefer hand washing when I have the time. Unless you don't think it's proper for a princess to wash dishes anymore."

"A proper lady knows all of a household's tasks, even the most menial," Ella said, taking the outstretched towel with a slight huff.

"I'm glad to know that tiara hasn't dulled your domestic side," Minnie said after a few quiet minutes. "Here, why don't you grab a chair and sit while you do that? I know these counters are a bit low for you." After a moment of shuffling chairs, Minnie said, "Kinda reminds me of that Thanksgiving back in '54."

"The first year I hosted the feast?'

"Mm-hmm. Snow and I were in the back, helping you clean up- and it was only when we started scouring those pots that we realized you'd scorched the cranberries."

"I didn't know cranberries were so volatile. Besides, I managed to save most of them."

"You did. It was a great dinner, Ella. That pot never came clean, did it?"

"No. In fact, I think I gave it to Jacques…I can't remember what he said he wanted it for. What on earth would a mouse want with a kettle?"

Minnie held up a sudsy skillet, a few pieces of scrambled eggs clinging stubbornly to the basin. "To cook?"

Ella frowned, then did a double-take at Minnie. A small, beautifully humble and sheepish smile crossed her lips. "I'm sure that was it."

Scrubbing away at the skillet, Minnie went on, "And after we spent an hour-"

"Hours," Ella corrected.

"-cleaning up, we came back out into the dining hall and Mickey told us that Disneyland was a no-go. At least, our part in Disneyland."

"In retrospect, it was a wise decision," Ella said calmly, though her hands gripped her soggy towel a bit more tightly than necessary. "The time wasn't quite right yet. Bugs was terribly angry, wasn't he?"

"He was, even though the Animasian entrance to the park wouldn't really have affected him. I do remember that you were upset too, Ella."

"I was young and didn't know better."

"The young still have reason to grieve. And you were years older when the same thing happened with Disney World. And older each time a new park opened and we were stuck here. But you were always gracious, always kind, always ready to help out with a ball or getting a new kingdom settled on its bearings. But…Ella, what happened to you the Night of Dissension?"

"Pardon?"

"You changed, Ella."

"I…I didn't-"

"_Something_ happened that night. How on earth can I explain your behavior the last several years? The Ella I used to know would never have been so…so _mean._ Did the Exiles…did they hurt you, or-"

"Of course not," Ella said angrily. "And I don't know why you think something happened to me that night-"

"Because something happened to everyone that night. Did you and Charming have a fight-"

"John. He changed his name to John."

"Yes, that's right. I forgot. I'm sorry."

Ella didn't appear to be listening anymore. As she continued to vigorously dry a large platter, she spoke in a low voice, "It's the only thing in 40 years of marriage he's wanted to change."

Minnie remained silent, turning back to the sink as she heard a darkening frustration riding on Ella's words.

"It's not that routine is a bad thing," Ella continued, talking more to the cabinet than to Minnie as she stacked dried plates with intense zeal. "Routine gives time its shape and makes the future less uncertain. But never wanting change, always wanting the same things the same way without any surprises or…well, it's just not very mature.

"And then new people keep coming with new ways of doing things and _they're_ not at all ashamed of change or breaking the status quo. _They_ flaunt it, _they_ buck tradition and change the story they're supposed to be stuck with for the rest of their life-"

"Ella!"

Too late. The hastily piled dishes tipped over from their precarious perch and shattered onto the tiled floor, ceramic pieces cartwheeling around their feet.

Stunned, Ella looked around her feet as though she wasn't sure how the plates had fallen. "I'm…I'm sorry Minnie, I didn't mean…"

"It's all right," Minnie said as she hurried to get a broom and dust pan. When she returned, Ella still stood in the middle of the broken plates, looking lost and vaguely confused. She helped Minnie sweep the shards into the trash in silence, the dull clinking of ceramic filling the kitchen.

"Ella," Minnie began quietly as they walked back to the sink, "is there anything you want to talk about? Anything…anything that might be bothering you?"

Minnie saw it; it flashed so quickly that she would later doubt that she had seen it but it was there: Ella's lips parted with the thousand words she kept at bay, shoulders sagging with the weight of memory, her eyes no longer haughty but aching-

-and then the mask was back, and the words were the same as they had been for the last several years. "No, Minnie, I'm fine. And nothing happened to me the Night of Dissension, not that it's necessarily your business anyway. John and I were at opposite ends of the castle that night, so the spell had no effect on us. I didn't know anything was going on until Maleficent arrived in the Town Square and the battle begun."

Minnie stared at Ella, worry nagging her to speak. "The battle with the Exiles began in the Pride Lands," Minnie said slowly. "Maleficent didn't arrive in the Town Square until she was almost defeated."

After a brief pause, Ella simply said, "Of course you're right. My memory must have slipped- it was a very confusing night after all. Thank you for the sandwiches. I must be going." In the flurry of words, she was gone.

Troubled, Minnie turned her gaze back to the sink. Dishes forgotten, she stared into the water, trying to divine secrets amid the foam and grease and finding nothing, only the reiteration of truth she already knew:

Ella's memory had not slipped.

There were some things you just didn't forget.

* * *

As Mufasa looked over the huddled masses yearning for a free autograph, he longed to chuck them all into the nearest pond. The adults, anyway; the children he'd just gently shoo away by growling at them.

He was not in a good mood.

Glancing down the long row of booths holding his family, his friends, his Kingdom, Mufasa felt the familiar mixture of frustration, annoyance and guilt bucking inside him. Most of all was guilt: how could he have ever allowed this to happen to his pride, what could possibly have possessed him to let his son, his _son_, be subject to the whims of Neanderthal tourists?

The Pride's Meet n' Greet tent had become a permanent fixture on Epcot's West Side, nestled awkwardly on the grassy slope between The Land and The Living Seas. While Animal Kingdom still remained the Pride's official gathering place, the incongruous spot in Future World kept appearing more and more frequently on their schedule. When Mufasa had asked why they were constantly being uprooted from the park that made the most thematic sense for the Pride's presence (and the least crowded), he was patly told that it would "do them good" to see other places beyond the fauna-friendly park. Mufasa privately decided the real reason was to inflate attendance numbers at Epcot, a ploy justified by a single attraction within the Land pavilion featuring a few members of the Pride in an enviro-edutainment film.

And so there they were, on display for the paying public and routinely bombarded with idiotic questions:

"Can you say, 'Luke, I am your father'?"

"So how can the Elephant Graveyard be on the northern border of the Pride Lands when it's _clearly_ on the southern end, as seen from the top of Pride Rock at sunrise?"

"Has Scar ever tried to kill you?"

"No," Mufasa said immediately, praying that Taka hadn't heard. Mufasa looked at the questioner, a young father trying to herd a set of twins to walk in the same direction. "My brother Taka is an honest, valued member of this Pride. Scar is a character in a movie."

"Okay." Totally distracted by his children, Mufasa doubted that the man had heard him at all as he walked out, a child holding each of his hands and threatening to pull him apart in two directions. Mufasa glanced back a few stalls over to find Taka, eyes narrowed and following the tactless young man.

Wonderful.

If there had been any progress made with the New Kingdom, Mufasa could somewhat reconcile the charade of being a willing puppet. But Integration had started well over three months ago now; someone else, some other disillusioned group should have come forward by now with their tale of dissatisfaction and concern over the future of Animasia. But that hadn't happened yet. There was a disturbing lack of regard for the future as most of Animasia's inhabitants seemed all too enamored with the immediate limelight. Even the ban on off-property travel hadn't bothered most. It was utterly disheartening, and made worse with each progressive moment spent with the teeming masses.

"So are you a ghost?"

Over the din of the voices in the tent, Mufasa heard the rolling weight of a trash cart approaching. Perhaps he was simply more attuned to its presence, but Mufasa wondered how all these people could completely ignore the giant gray behemoth approaching them. Colonel Hathi made less noise during his morning calisthenics than that cart did.

Of course, the only reason he gave the trash cart a second's thought was because he knew who was pushing it. He could almost see Cate between the gaps in the snaking line, but judging by the pace of the cart, she wasn't going to stop until she arrived backstage and had disposed of her cargo.

Though they had barely exchanged more than greetings since the Living Seas fiasco, Mufasa was…glad to be able to see Cate every time they were stuck in Epcot. If nothing else, she was a friendly face who asked for nothing in return but mere acknowledgement. No schemes, no hidden agendas, no conniving…just a grin and a nod and back to sweeping.

How ideal.

"Look, Anna, it's Simba!"

"Da-ad," the girl sighed, clearly embarrassed. "We already talked to Simba. This is Mufasa."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure I am Mufasa," Mufasa said, dropping his voice so tonally low that there would be no way to confuse him with his pre-adolescent child.

He heard a short giggle and briefly looked up. A few paces away, Cate was hunched over her broom and dustpan, sweeping up a heaping mound of spilled popcorn. An autograph and photograph later, the confused father and still-apologetic daughter were gone.

While waiting for the next group to shuffle over to his booth, Mufasa leaned over the queue line where Cate was still sweeping up popcorn. "Do I sound anything like Simba?"

"Absolutely not."

"Thank you."

"You do look like him though. When he's an adult."

"In the film."

"Yes."

"This is not the film."

"I know. And you know. Everyone else…" She shrugged. "It's all a performance isn't it?"

Mufasa didn't get a chance to ask her what she meant. The next group came, snapping pictures every half-second. When Mufasa could see again, Cate was gone.

No, not gone. Just out of the way, talking to a manager with an earpiece.

Being talked to.

Mufasa's brows furrowed. He couldn't hear what was being said, but he saw their body language quite clearly: Cate leaning back on one leg, shoulders squared defiantly but still defensive, empty palm open in explanation; the manager hovering, short, curt hand gesticulations implying fault, a stern face wildly out of place amid the usual laughter. A moment more of unheard dialogue, and both started back towards the Image backstage.

Odd. But none of his business.

A few more groups buggered by. The Pride was sent to take a break backstage. Simba and Nala immediately began making fun of half the guests they'd seen, mimicking gaits and scrunching up their faces. Mufasa kept glancing back in the direction on the Imagination Pavilion while Taka furiously soliloquized on the matter of tact and egregious breaches of tact and-

"Yes, Taka, the guests are stupid," Mufasa sighed, interrupting his brother. "I'll be right back. Keep an eye on the cubs."

Annoyed by the interruption, Taka asked incredulously, "Where do you have to go?"

"I'm not sure."

"Ah. Obviously it's a matter of great import then."

Mufasa ignored his brother and started over to Image, walking along the perimeter of the Land. Even as he walked, he couldn't say what possessed him to keep moving forward. This wasn't his problem; Cate was someone he barely knew, and he didn't know the manager at all, and neither had consulted him on the matter, so what was he doing sticking his fat muzzle into places where it didn't belong?

Except Cate _had_talked to him.

And, with only instinct to tell him so, he knew that was the problem.

The cast member entrance to the Imagination Pavilion's break room was at the westernmost corner of the building that was still accessible to guests. Mufasa slipped from the backstage area to the long secluded hallway, immediately assaulted by the garishly orange paint that covered the base of the attraction. Cursing the Imagineers' color palette, he found the door and let himself into the cast member area.

Beneath Dr. Nigel Channing's "Journey to Imagination" voiceover, Mufasa could hear the manager not so much talking to Cate as berating her: "…and why do you think he'd want you hanging around him anyway?"

"He asked me a question, Peter-"

"Do you realize how unprofessional you were? Did you realize-"

Mufasa had heard enough. From the entrance of the break room, he said, "I didn't realize that talking to Toons was taboo."

All activity in the break room stopped as every single cast member turned to stare at him. Some looked incredulous and a few others looked worried, but all practically leaned in to watch the confrontation.

The manger turned several shades of gray upon recognizing Mufasa's voice and stature. His eyes practically bugging out of his head, the manager finally retaliated with a dazzling, "Er…uhhh…it's not." Mufasa could see the rehearsed spiel working its way into his mouth as he continued, "But cast members aren't supposed to approach VIPs."

"I thought VIPs are guests, not fellow employees. If the former, I was the one who approached Cate with a question. If the latter, why can't cast members communicate with each other?"

Mufasa noticed that the initial tension in the room had quickly shifted. The other cast members still watched intently, but most were smiling now. At first, he thought he had become the butt of some joke but no- some were discreetly pointing instead to the manager.

"…just a misunderstanding."

"All this over a misunderstanding? I'd hate to see what happens when there's an actual problem."

Someone in the back actually laughed. The manager Cate called "Peter" quickly turned around to look into the control room where the other area managers were trying to listen. Eyes narrowed, he turned back and settled into his seat with a dejected slump of his shoulders.

Mufasa didn't have a clue what was going on, but he could sense a turning tide.

Cate seemed to feel it as well. "Am I done?" she asked quietly.

The manager looked back at her sullenly. He waved her off with a grunt, and she quickly rose, heading towards the hallway. With an almost imperceptible flick of her hand, she gestured for Mufasa to follow her.

Silently they walked outside, through the cast member overhang and past the gate that lead backstage. Cate stopped at a slightly rusted picnic table underneath a low-limbed tree, then turned around to face Mufasa with a huge smile. "That was the best thing that ever happened in that break room. Maybe even the park." Sitting down on the table top with her legs dangling over the side, she continued fondly, "I wish I could have that moment on tape. He's the worst manager in the history of management and he so needed a talking to."

Mufasa didn't see the humor. "What exactly happened?"

The smile faded a bit. "I don't really know- he saw me talking to you. I still don't know why that should be a problem. When you guys first came around, there was never anything said about not talking to Toons."

"Animasians," Mufasa automatically corrected.

"You don't like to be called Toons, do you?"

"It's not…it's not who we are," he said carefully.

"The company might disagree with you."

"I always disagree with the company."

"Good. Someone needs to." She grinned. "That was so cool what you did. I just wish George could've seen it."

"George?"

"A friend. He's a botanist over at the Land. He used to work here- we shared the late shift together. He's a great guy."

Mufasa somehow doubted that. His experience with human males was far from stellar. And he had more important things to discuss. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What?"

"When you implied that everything here is a performance?"

All traces of her earlier joviality had vanished, and she looked at him oddly. "Well…it is. The parks are called 'on stage' for a reason. I'm a 'cast member' for the same reason. I'm not even supposed to be called a custodian- I'm a showkeeper. You don't even want to know what a protein spill is. And all the euphemisms and all the glitter is all for the guests' entertainment." She paused, suddenly realizing. "Didn't…didn't they tell you any of this during Traditions?"

"What's Traditions?"

"Um…the basic primer for all Disney World cast members."

"Then no, we weren't told any of that. We were told repeatedly how wonderful it was that we would be integrating into human society and that the populace would welcome us with open arms. We were also told how thrilled people would be to meet the 'real' us and not our movie counterparts. The Meet and Greet tents were billed as opportunities for cultural exchange."

"So they lied through their teeth to you."

"Yes."

"Oh…didn't you know you were coming into a theme park?"

"Eventually. And we certainly knew what a theme park was, even though the Disney parks were never originally intended to be theme parks."

"Really?"

He looked at her quizzically. "You don't think this was the first time integration was tried, do you? The E.P.C.O.T. project was Walt's last attempt to bridge our two worlds, but…" His voice trailed, giving a contemptuous glare at the futuristic bubble of Spaceship Earth. Returning to his original line, Mufasa continued, "Cate, during the entire run-up to the first of this year, we were never told once that we would be park fodder. And then, after the entire world gets a peak at us, ladies and gentlemen, and whatevers, here are the parks you will be visiting tomorrow."

"That…sucks."

"Yes it does. Even though you were never actively told not to speak to an Animasian, I suspect that they want to keep our interactions to a minimum. The better to keep us alienated...and to avoid the exact thing we are doing now."

"Plotting a hostile takeover of the Disney Company?"

Mufasa grinned, knowing Cate didn't have a clue how on target she was. "Exactly."

"Well, if it comes to that, I want to be on your side. You're the only one who seems to have any balls around here."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm serious." And she did look serious. "People don't…people don't tend to stick up for the weird kid in the back of the class. If you really ever need anything, I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't understand the analogy, but her heard the profound sincerity in her voice. "Thank you. But…what if you find work somewhere else?"

"There's not a huge demand for artists at the moment," she said ruefully. "People seem to equate anyone with a paintbrush to a mad scientist these days. I think people are expecting Picasso's nudes to come tearing through the streets of Madrid. And a minimum wage job is pretty much the same anywhere else. At least I've got some tenure here."

He nodded, again not completely comprehending what she said but understanding the emotions behind it.

"Speaking of which, I need to get back on stage."

"And I don't want to get you in any more trouble."

"You won't. He's afraid of you."

"How do you know?"

"He's dumb, but he's not dumb enough to keep picking fights with someone who could eat him."

"There are advantages to be a carnivore. Can I ask you one more question?"

"Shoot."

"Who is Darth Vader?"

After first cocking a quizzical eyebrow at him, her eyes immediately widened and she brought her hand up over her mouth in a rather pathetic attempt to hide the silent laughter that sent her shoulders shaking.

"When you are quite finished."

"I'm sorry!" She brought her hand down, still grinning, eyes bright with amused sympathy. "Have guests been asking you to repeat random phrases to them?"

"How did you know?"

"It was a hunch. 'May the Force be with you'?"

"Yes. What are these people talking about?"

"Darth Vader is a character from a movie called 'Star Wars.' He is also one of the best known villains of modern cinema, and the two of you happen to share his voice."

"Please tell me you're joking."

Rising from her seat, Cate began to walk onstage. "I find your lack of faith disturbing," she called back to him.

Mufasa watched her disappear, recognizing her words from another guest several days before. "Wonderful," he said to no one in particular.

* * *

Mickey already knew the Kodak presentation was going to be a headache.

He was still fuming over Ella. The last thing he want to do was perform for a bunch of over-paid fat cats whose future patronage of several World attractions was dubious at best. He had long accepted that his presence at these gatherings was only a distraction, something to divert the attention of the crowd of senior execs while Misner prattled on about the synergetic products the two companies could produce.

That didn't mean he wanted to be there.

Misner was already halfway into his speech when Mickey sidled behind the stage in the Imagination Pavilion's VIP lounge. Mickey half-listened, waiting for his prompt to bring him onstage, all the while steaming over Ella's gall.

"…and here's just the person to help me illustrate that point. Ladies and gentlemen of Eastman Kodak, Mickey Mouse!"

Knowing that it was too early for his intro, Mickey sighed, and planned on some sort of payback for being late. Then he forced on his best Mouse Club smile and went out to face the small crowd. "Hiya, folks! It's great to see all of you here today…"

And on. It was practically the same speech he gave to all the corporate gatherings, tweaked here and there to reflect their different contributions to the company. And somehow, it had always worked: He would enter a room full of rather tight-lipped, mirthless people and would leave behind a genial band of colleagues who were more than happy to continue their association with the good name of Disney. It was a system that had worked so well that Mickey was rather stumped when one of the men in the audience in front of him now raised a questioning had. Since it was impossible to ignore, Mickey stopped his monologue and asked. "Sir?"

In a clipped, matter-of-fact voice, the man asked from his chair, "When will we get to see Animasia? I'd like to see what we're paying for."

It took Mickey a moment to recover from that question. "Well, sir, um…Kodak's sponsorship is for the attractions only. Animasia has never cost anyone anything."

"Until last year when you guys hired a whole slew of people to help with this integration thing, including a former Kodak VP. Now I want to know who foot the bill for their salaries."

Misner stepped in. "Bob, all expenses were drawn from the company coffers. No outside groups paid for Integration."

"Is that documented?"

"It's in the first quarter budget."

Bob seemed to mull this over. Mickey was about to get back on track when again he was interrupted again: "You do realize that without corporate sponsorship Disneyland would never have gotten off the ground?"

"Yes, sir, and we are very grateful for all of our partnerships over the years-"

"And without Disneyland's success, the animation department would have floundered and Animasia would not have its current population?"

Toontown's decimated plain jumped into Mickey's thoughts, only now, a dilapidated and crumbling Town Hall stood in the midst of the field. "Sir," Mickey said quietly, breaking character, "what do you want?"

"I want to see the return on Kodak's decades-long investment. I want to see Animasia."

"Animasia is where we live. It's not part of the park system. It's not for the guests."

"We're not guests. We're underwriters."

"Bob, we're going to have a formal Q&A after the presentation," Misner said, again taking over for an increasingly flustered Mickey. "I can tell you now that Animasia is currently off-limits to anyone not involved with the Integration project. It's simply a matter of security. That may change one day, but right now, Animasia is simply where the Toons live. Now, if you would be so kind as to return your attention to the screen, we've worked out a year-long projection for attendance at each of Kodak's sponsored pavilions, recently revised to reflect the huge spike in ticket sales…"

Mickey's role abruptly over, he returned to the space behind the stage. He knew he could have left; Misner wasn't going to be calling him to the floor again after _that._ But paranoid curiosity prevented him from leaving. If he did leave, he'd never know what Misner might promise to do with Animasia. And if it came to that…Mickey had no problem confronting Misner right then and there.

For an old codger, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, even without the alliance of the New Kingdom at his side.

However, the Q&A session never once touched upon Animasia, remaining in such tired topics as dividend shares and product placement. A handful of Special Events cast members ushered the group away, so as Mickey left the stage area, he was surprised to see Misner still standing at the podium. "Interesting afternoon," Misner commented.

Mickey shrugged. "Thanks for jumping in earlier."

"Bob's a schmuck. I didn't want him to get us too off-topic. Although…" He trailed his voice of in such a deliberate fashion that Mickey couldn't help but get annoyed. "…sooner or later, you should start letting people into Animasia."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, it's not like they get to see Toons on a regular basis."

"And who's fault is that?"

Misner looked down at Mickey with an uncomfortably scrutinizing gaze. "Mickey, do you really think I sit in my office all day dreaming up maniacal schemes to keep all of Animasia under my foot? You heard what happened to Belle when she was in New York."

"The tabloids-"

"This has nothing to do with the press. I'm talking about the freak show who tried to attack her. I'm talking about the incident that did _not_ make it into the tabloids and that very few people actually know about."

"So you're keeping us under lock and key for our own good? And letting humans into Animasia is going to make us even safer?"

"If you pick who the humans are, maybe it will," Misner said, ignoring the first comment.

"Nick, what are you getting at?" Mickey asked, tired of the game.

"Belle and Gaston have been asked to participate in a documentary that would chronicle their journey to the altar. We need your permission to send a camera crew into Animasia to film them."

"You need _their_ permission to do the show, Nick."

"Well, maybe you could persuade them, then. Explain to them that, by allowing cameras to follow them around, they could really help the Integration movement by how showing how normal you all are. People can relate to that kind of stuff. What's more normal than two people getting married?"

Mickey looked squarely up at Misner. "So do you have the evening time slot picked out yet?"

Misner returned the look. "If they do it, it's the tent pole for our programming season."

"And if they don't?"

"We're hoping that's not the case. I'm hoping you won't let that be the case."

"This is my responsibility now?"

"Yes. They're your people, Mickey. It's about time you took care of their best interests." Without waiting for an answer, Misner left, belatedly following the group he was hosting.

Mickey was left alone in the empty room, no answer ready to come. He may have had tricks, but answers he had run out of a long time ago.

* * *

Book satchel slung securely underneath her arm, Belle trotted up the stairs of the underground tunnel, simultaneously relieved to be getting out of Animasia and genuinely excited about her upcoming appearance. She peered into the bag just to make sure she had all the titles she needed, read over them again just to make sure, then closed the satchel tightly.

Excited though she was, she couldn't help but feel a little anxious. It had been almost a year since she had stood in front of a group of children and taught. And while she'd had plenty of interaction with children since then, this was the first time since Integration that she felt she was doing something truly worthy with her time:

She was going to read to a group of guests.

It still baffled her why no one on the PR team had thought this was a good idea until after she was kicked off the Royal Entourage, but maybe it was better that way. If she had been doing readings as a princess, maybe they would have taken that away, too. As it was, she wasn't going to read in Magic Kingdom, but rather in Epcot's French pavilion. She had a sneaking suspicion that somehow she was no longer "magical" enough to warrant any status in that hallowed theme park. No prince, no magic, no happy ending.

What a delightful message to send to the legions of little girls pirouetting in their princess garb.

Groaning quietly when she saw Alder waiting for her at the backstage entrance to the park, she slowed her pace a bit. "There's been a change in plans," he said as she approached, looking up from a clipboard.

Already sensing trouble, Belle simply asked, "Oh?"

"We're going to postpone you for another couple of days."

"What happened?"

"Well…you're just too much of a liability right now."

She had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going but waited for him to continue.

"We don't want the guests to have a jarring experience when they come to the parks. If you came out there and read to them, they wouldn't be listening to your story- they'd be thinking about all the tabloids and all the entertainment reports about your little fling with Gaston."

"Five-year-old children are going to have read tabloids?"

"Kids pick a lot up from their parents, who would be with their kids at one of your readings."

"It really isn't anyone's else's concern whom I am going to marry."

"Belle, your privacy stopped the moment Gaston kissed you in public. Now, if you would just let us go ahead with your television show-"

"How many times do I have to tell you no?" Belle said, balling her hands into fists in frustration. "We don't want-"

"Gaston thought it was a good idea."

She paused, wondering when bald-faced lies had become part of Alder's repertoire. "Right."

Alder shrugged. "He seemed pretty interested this afternoon."

"Mr. Alder?"

"Hmm?"

"Please stop."

He shrugged again and returned to look at the clipboard. "The point, Belle, is that until you or someone from Animasia comments on what's really going on with you two, you're just going to be a distraction. And we'll have to use a replacement speaker in the meantime."

Rolling her eyes, Belle asked, "Then why did you schedule a bunch of appearances?"

"Because I thought I could have talked some sense into you by now."

She gave him a wry smile. "Aren't Disney heroines supposed to be tenacious?"

Alder glared at her. "Fortunately, we were able to find someone to take your place."

It was too personal of a slight not to ask: "Who?"

"Ella."

Belle stared at Alder in disbelief, then very, very quietly asked, "Since when does Ella care about reading to the guests?"

"She was very enthusiastic. She kept reiterating how important it is to read out loud every day to children, how it helps promote literacy and how encouraging it would be for a young girl to see one of her role models reading-"

"That was from my proposal when I joined the Entourage!" Belle exclaimed.

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"It's my truth, Mr. Alder, not Ella's. Ella wouldn't care a whit about reading if it didn't involve somehow upstaging me."

"Then upstage her and have your own TV show. You'll be seen by millions of people each week and Ella will just see a couple dozen people each day who wouldn't be able to tell the difference between her and an old face character."

"So now you're saying that there was no reason to leave Animasia at all?"

Alder's face went blank. "That's…that's not what I meant, Belle, I-"

"No, Mr. Alder. I think that's exactly what you meant." Before he could say otherwise, she turned away and started walking. She had no intention of letting him see the angered flush in her cheeks.

Returning to Animasia, she couldn't bring herself to just trudge back to the cottage and complain- again- to Gaston about the gross unfairness of their predicament. She couldn't stand the thought of being suffocatingly surrounded by the familiar walls of her home when she had been just a few feet away from the never-ending sky of the Outside.

So she walked, barely noticing as the Town Hall disappeared behind her in a thicket of shrub. The woods were part of her Kingdom, but she didn't want to be in her Kingdom, either; despite the oncoming nightfall, she kept walking, and the sharp scent of evergreens and winter leaves faded to the dewy thickness that clung to the Indian rainforest. She thought of no particular destination, and the woods complied, meandering her from Sherwood to the depths of Africa and back. She didn't care.

Belle had never been so incensed in her life.

She knew that Alder was just trying to bait her, that he was just trying to get under her skin by suggesting that Ella fulfill Belle's role as an educator, as an intellectual ambassador. What was infuriating was that it had _worked_, and now she was second-guessing her constant refusal to join in on that ludicrous idea of a televised wedding.

_But what would it hurt?_

And what could she gain?

_Celebrity._

_A beautiful, modern princess who cast aside her story and wrote a new one like all empowered women could._

And what would she lose?

_What was there to lose?_

Why did she keep coming back to that question?

_Because there was something to lose._

No- her time in New York had drained her of any sadness she carried with her from the past. Now she just wanted to get on with her life, a feat that seemed more insurmountable every day.

_Liar._

She didn't want to let Alder win, to let him think that he had won, because that's how it would be construed: a victory over Toonish tenacity.

But if Alder won, then so would she: he'd get that blasted show, she'd get her freedom.

_A freedom that stretched only as far a camera's gaze._

It wouldn't be freedom; it would just be another act, another role for her to play. The giddy bride, breathless with anticipation for her Big Day, getting to wear a pretty dress with pretty flowers for everyone to see…

She knew she couldn't act that well.

If they'd just eloped when they had the chance…

_You'd be married._

She stopped walking.

_You'd be married to Gaston._

She looked at her ring.

_Till death do you part._

And Toons don't die.

Usually.

Apparently, they just become interchangeable cogs in a vast marketing machine, one crown no different than another.

With a valiant effort, Belle tried to push these thoughts out of her mind and resolved not to brood anymore that night. It would help no one to pine for a sky that she wasn't allowed to see, especially when Animasia's half-moon glowed so warmly above the dense budding trees. She began to stroll, less resolutely than before, thinking of nothing but where the occasional owl song emanated from.

And then her book satchel snared into a low-lying branch.

Untangling it may have been the better option, but it was not a night for thinking too clearly. Instead, she gave a good yank, knowing she'd win against a couple of twigs.

The bag ripped, sending the books flying onto the ground.

She looked around at the splayed pages around her. Before she let herself scream in maddened frustration, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to quiet all the anger and hurt roiling in her heart.

When she opened her eyes, Beast was picking up the last two books off the ground.

She blinked several times, not sure at first if she was hallucinating. But no- Beast stood and tentatively handed her the books. In her hand, their weight seemed to verify the scene in front of her was indeed real. "You dropped these," Beast said helpfully.

Belle just continued to stare, too overwhelmed to form coherent words. "What are you doing out here?" she finally asked a bit warily.

"Taking a walk."

"A…walk."

"Yes." He paused. "Are you all right?"

She dodged the question. "I thought you just stayed in the castle these days."

"Not always. Not on a good spring night." He looked her over, concern evident. "Are you sure you're all right?"

As he said the words, she realized that this was the conversation she'd waited years to have.

And it was far too late for it now.

Clutching her books tightly to her chest, she responded contemptuously, "You don't get to ask me that question." Without waiting to see his reaction, she turned and walked away, knowing that he wouldn't follow.

The crashing of underbrush behind her contradicted her. "I can't ask you how you're feeling?"

"No. You gave that up when you gave me up."

He leapt in front of her, blocking her path. "I didn't give you up, Belle; I was trying to protect you!"

"You never asked if I wanted to be protected!"

"So you left the castle."

"How was I supposed to love someone I could never find?"

"You found Gaston pretty quickly."

"He was simply being nice-"

"Or had he found you already?"

"…how can you even think that?"

"Or had you already found him?"

Something inside her broke. "You actually think- you have the audacity to think-"

"You were together at the Christmas Gala. That was what- two weeks after you left the castle?"

"Two months."

"Belle, we'd been together for _years._"

"Then you shouldn't have abandoned me!" she yelled, throwing her books down on the ground for emphasis.

"I was trying to protect you, damn it! I didn't know- I _don't_ know- if that thing is going to come back. I still don't know what I did to you and I almost _killed_ you…I couldn't let you be around me. What if it comes back?"

"You should have trusted me to make that decision for myself. You should have trusted in _us._ Obviously you didn't, because why else would you be accusing me of cheating on you? With _Gaston_?"

He grunted.

Furious, Belle could barely force the words out of her constricted throat. "I waited for you. That night- and so many nights- I waited for you. And then I started looking for you, because I knew you and I had to tell you I didn't blame you."

The accusatory mien in Beast's face instantly dropped. "…you didn't?"

"No! I knew you'd never hurt me. Even before I knew about the Exiles, I knew that you'd never want to hurt me." She paused, then added darkly, "Until now."

Her words seemed to assault him; he visibly staggered at their weight. And now that she had started, Belle couldn't stop the rest of the words tumbling out of her mouth. "I wanted to see you, more than anything, afterwards. I knew it wasn't you. I didn't understand what had happened, but I knew that you weren't responsible. _And you never came._ You never even came to see if I woke up!"

"That's not true," Beast said, his voice hoarse.

"I never saw you."

"I wouldn't let you see me. I thought…I thought you hated me."

"You thought…" She let the words sink in. Beast had backed away from her, his face hung in shame, haunted by regret. Despite her anger, despite her own hurt, she finally _understood_. She took a few tentative steps forward. Though she wanted to bring a reassuring hand to his face, she stopped, not sure if he would welcome the gesture. Instead, she simply bent forward a little, trying to catch his gaze within her own. When she did, she had to briefly look away again: despair flooded back at her from within his eyes, waves of crushing sorrow tumultuously churning in the cloudy haze of once-brilliant irises. She returned and, getting as close to him as she dared, whispered, "I never hated you. Never. I worried about you, I missed you, I got really angry at you…I never hated you, Beast. I loved you too much for that."

She felt the past tense slide over her tongue; he heard it as well, and a single, choked sigh was her only answer from him. "The world has never seen a greater fool," he finally muttered after a long while. A few more moments passed; he straightened himself and Belle did the same, now looking at him worriedly. There was a strange detachment that hovered about him. With a formality that would have put all of Ella's etiquette to shame, Beast addressed her, "I have wronged you terribly. I injured you and I failed to trust you. I can't ask for your forgiveness as I don't possess enough grace to have it bestowed on me-"

"Stop it."

Beast looked at her, perplexed.

" 'I'm sorry' would have been fine," Belle said with a sad half-smile. She paused. "As long as you don't...you don't really think I was hiding a relationship behind your back."

He winced. "No," he rumbled, the decorum now gone. "The thought hadn't even occurred until…"

With a sigh, Belle finished for him. "Let me guess- until you happened across a newspaper that declared I was a two-timing whore and was playing you for a fool. If I recall, the article had very little on our actual break up."

She didn't try to hide the bitterness in her voice; the whole thing still sickened her. Beast sensed this; cautiously, he said, "I believe you, Belle. I just…I don't understand how something so deceitful could have been published."

"Veracity isn't the standard of publishing anymore, it seems. Or, at the very least, no one bothers to check their sources."

"Then who was telling lies about you?" he asked, a faint growl in his voice.

Pleasantly disconcerted by the rumble that tinged his words, Belle quickly said, "Ella. Ever since that night, she's had it in for me. How did you come across that paper anyway?"

"It was about to be used for kindling. One of the servants must have brought it back with them from New York." He looked at her, realization starting to take hold. "There wasn't anything about the Night of Dissension in the article."

"There wouldn't have been. None of us have told the humans anything about that night."

"But...wouldn't Ella have used that against you?"

Belle looked at him with confusion for a moment, then in a resigned sigh, "Beast…Ella doesn't know what happened. That's why she uses that story. That's…that's what everyone in Animasia thinks happened, even if they don't say it out loud. They don't know…they don't know what you did."

"They don't?"

She shook her head.

In a tone both demanding and fearful, Beast asked, "Why?"

Quietly, and without the irony she had the right to use, Belle answered, "I was trying to protect you."

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, instead just pacing slowly away from her. After staring up at the brittle canopy, he shook his head and asked the heavens rather than her, "Why did you do that? You had every right to tell anyone-"

"I didn't want to." She crossed over to him, her voice barely carrying over the wintered leaves. "Everyone was so paranoid after the attack that I thought that if I let it be known what happen…you'd be wanted as an accomplice to the Exiles. I couldn't let that happen."

"I wish you had."

"Don't say that."

"It would have been just punishment for what I did to you. And exile would have been a more generous fate than the way I did lose you."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"You should have," he said, agitated. "You should have wanted justice-"

"I just wanted you back."

Belle waited for the rejoinder that didn't come. Beast simply stared at her; no, he stared at the ring on her left hand, his face now inscrutable. Emotionally drained, Belle turned and walked over to the thrown books. "I should get back home," she said, bending down to collect the books.

"Do you love him?"

She looked up at the abrupt question. He had knelt down and was at eye level with her. No longer broken in pain, the blue burned brightly at her, with a gaze so piercing it almost hurt to look at him. It wasn't anger that blazed, but the need for knowledge.

"Yes."

And it was the truth.

The truth she wanted to believe.

He held her gaze a moment longer, then nodded. Then he reached down and again collected the fallen books for her, this time reading the titles on the binding before handing them back over. "Did you get these in New York?" he asked as he handed them back to her.

"Yes, and thank you," she answered as they both collected themselves from the ground. "Did Lumiere ever give you the books?"

"Yes, though I assumed the hand drawn one wasn't from you."

She grinned. "No. She was this sweet little girl. She thought you were shy and nervous about coming to the city, so she wanted to show you all the things there were to do in New York. Did it work?"

"I already wrote to her and thanked her- she left her address on the back."

"Oh, Madelyn will be thrilled, Beast. Thank you."

He shrugged. "The Potter book was interesting, too."

"How so?"

After a thoughtful pause, he asked, "What would you see if you looked in the mirror?"

"The Erised Mirror?"

"Yes."

Unconsciously, Belle gathered the books close to her chest. "Red correction pens," she said, thinking fast. "Because it would mean I was teaching again. And you?"

He started a bit, as though he hadn't thought the question could be turned on him. "A pair of shoes," he answered finally.

"Not socks?" she asked with a slight tease in her voice.

"I already have a pair," he answered quietly.

"You…oh," she said, realizing. "I always wondered if you found that parcel."

"They were how I found you."

"Oh," she repeated. "Do they fit?"

"No. But they're perfect."

All she could do was nod. She turned around to head back towards the cottage, then turned back. "There are more books if you're interested. If you ever want to stop by the cottage and borrow one."

"I might do that."

"Good."

Beast watched her disappear into the forest, the trees framing her body as it was gradually swallowed by darkness. He waited until he knew she would be at her home, inside, the door closed and windows shuttered for the night. When he was certain this was done, he waited until he felt that she would be asleep, far from the world of conscious troubles.

And that's when he finally answered the question truthfully:

"I see you."

* * *

Gaston drummed his fingers along the table, alternating his gaze between the grandfather clock in the living room and the bulging portfolio in front of him. The sun had long set over the town; he hadn't expected Belle to be so late. Or maybe that little weasel had conned her into signing autographs. That was definitely Alder's style, and while Belle had no great care for the man either, she was too soft when it came to children. It really was a good thing they couldn't have kids; she'd probably want a boatload of them, and Gaston had no intention of sharing her with anyone.

He opened the folder, remembering the circumstances that brought it to him. Alder had the audacity to come into the tavern earlier that day and try to buddy-up to him about that reality show-thing. Only after Gaston had threatened to stuff him into one of his '97 Bordeaux barrels did Alder make his point clear:

"Do the show or else."

Gaston had seen "or else." "Or else" kept Belle holed up in Animasia for weeks because the management jackasses didn't know how to sell the public on her impending marriage to "the bad guy." Why the hell did the public matter anyway? And if the public mattered, shouldn't _someone_ be relieved that she was marrying him rather than some_thing_ that had claws and fangs?

But…

Apparently the public did matter. However stupid it was, the public apparently mattered a lot in Gaston's relationship to Belle. And if the public got what they wanted, maybe Belle could get what she wanted.

"All right."

Two words of reluctant consent produced an immediate attitude shift in the weasel, along with a binder full of wedding materials and another folder stuffed with waivers and disclosure forms. Gaston wasn't even going to touch the papers without Belle there to tell him what he was signing, but he did take the wedding guide. It was something concrete he could give to Belle, and maybe they could finally start planning their wedding.

Even though he knew she would be later in getting home that night, Gaston had gone over to the cottage to discuss wedding plans and how they could mesh their own ideas with the ones the company wanted to pin on them. When they'd been in New York, he was glad that he'd been able to talk Belle out of eloping, but as he began to flip through the portfolio, he wondered if Belle had a point.

"Good lord and Disney," he muttered, reading the tabs on each heading. CEREMONY, MUSIC, even FLOWERS he could handle, but TABLE LINENS? PLACE SETTINGS? BALLOON DECOR? Was all this really necessary to get hitched? The ATTIRE section was subdivided into no less than eleven categories, with just the GOWN getting another seven tabs for ACCESSORIES, BEADING, BODICE, JEWELRY, LINE, SHOES, and VEIL. He started shaking his head as he rifled through several maid of honor color swatches, stopping on a molten pink so garish that even Flora would have questioned its right to exist.

"I wouldn't say that's your best color."

Gaston slammed the folder down as he spun around to see the speaker. As he felt the color start to slide off his face, Gaston fleetingly wondered how this encounter could possibly work in his favor. "You," he finally said, with a dark authority.

"Me," Puck cheerfully replied, floating a foot above the floor between the kitchen and the parlor.

Replacing his initial shock with his most winning poker face, Gaston said, "I have no idea how you escaped, but I'll call a patrol on you."

"Oh, come on now. We both know that I would flit away long before anyone could arrive. Besides, do you really want people asking why I came to see you?"

A lethal stare chiseled its way onto Gaston's face, but he made no retort. "So you're here. Mind telling how you escaped?"

"Not particularly, especially when it's no concern to you. Yet," Puck added with a mischievous wink, then lazily started floating towards the seated hunter. "I just came by to chat, seeing as how you are the alpha male of the kingdom these days. Looks like that's going well." He nodded at the wedding plans on table.

"What do you want?"

"I told you, I want nothing more than to talk. And to tell you that your girl is having a wonderful time by herself tonight. I can show you if you'd like. Look right through there."

Despite himself, Gaston looked towards the window where the fey pointed. Their reflections in the pane shimmered, vanished, and were replaced by Belle, standing underneath a moonlit sky, with-

"Not alone, my mistake. Isn't that the prince from down the road?"

Indeed it was. Silent though they were within the window, Belle and Beast were clearly engrossed in the conversation they shared, with none of the stilting awkwardness that Belle proclaimed to have come between them.

"They do look cute together, don't they? What's that ditty- 'Tale as old as time-'"

"_Shut up!"_ Gaston roared, grabbing the wedding binder and hurtling it toward Puck.

Yawning, Puck waved his hand, stopping the book in midair, then letting it abruptly plop to the ground. "I'd hold off on the monogrammed towels if I were you." And with a lingering smirk, Puck vanished, leaving behind a silent cottage.

* * *

"Thanks for meeting with me, David."

Xanatos walked into Misner's office, keeping his annoyance well-hidden. He continued to stand while Misner sat down in his chair behind his well-polished desk, the wood gleaming brightly against the backdrop of night-darkened window. "I was under the impression I had no choice, Nicholas."

"Why would you think that?"

"Threatening a federal investigation of Trinity's start-up costs usually signals less than warm congeniality."

"That wasn't a threat, David. I simply wanted to get your attention in terms you'd understand. You've been a bit lax in listening to us."

"I wouldn't say lax."

"What would you call it, then?"

"Total disregard."

Misner's smile seem to freeze in place. "You see, that's why we need to talk. Your antics are putting us in an uncomfortable position."

"I feel fine."

"The Walt Disney Company is who I was referring to."

"And all its subsidiaries, I'm sure. How many ABC affiliates do you have to keep tabs on now? Not to mention all those Clear Channel stations per market. And you're concerned about a couple of Toons trying to sell their little widget?"

"Your little widget has created quite a buzz. I've heard that some of the most senior engineers at the Big Three have been moved to tears after inspecting the internal design of the Excalibur. Pre-launch sales are astronomically high. It's all rather exciting."

"So you want in."

"Exactly."

Xanatos looked momentarily thoughtful. "No."

"See? Here's that uncomfortable position: The Walt Disney Company owns the Excalibur."

"And how did you reach that conclusion?"

"Via the contract you signed." Misner pulled out a stapled packet from a drawer in his desk and slid it over to Xanatos. "This is your signature, isn't it?"

Rather than answer, Xanatos scanned the text first, flipping through the pages. "This isn't the document I originally signed."

"But your signature is on it."

"Something that looks like my signature is at the end of this. But I never would have agreed to signing away all creative endeavors to this company in perpetuity."

"Perhaps you missed that clause."

"I doubt that."

"David, the Company gave you your existence. The least you could do is share your new toy with us."

"So you can try to make it on the cheap and compromise its integrity for profits in a sector you have no business dealing in? No."

"You'll be in breach of your contract."

"You and I both know that's not the case."

Misner sighed. "We're going to have to work on those trust issues, David. Listen, I'll give you until noon tomorrow to think over what we've discussed tonight."

"How gracious of you."

"And you can knock off that smart ass tone of yours," Misner growled, the casual façade broken. "You're nothing in this game, you know that? You can call yourself a CEO of some imaginary company, but until you've gone toe-to-toe with the big boys with billions of real dollars at stake, you'll never be anything.

A self-assured half-grin met Misner's challenge. "I think I just did." And without waiting for a response, Xanatos walked out of the office.

* * *

Elisa walked up the flight of stairs to her apartment, wondering why she felt so tired after a day of doing practically nothing. Granted, she did have a job now- that had to be contributing to the fatigue. But it wasn't like data entry was all that taxing.

Knowing that the congressional resolution barred her from seeking a real job for the time being, Elisa had started occasionally dropping into the four park security offices. While she'd been politely but firmly chased out of three of them, she'd impressed the head of Epcot security after catching a pickpocket on a surveillance camera and tracking him down before he left the World Showcase exit. And the only reason she had been allowed access to the area where the surveillance cameras were kept was because she was giving a point-by-point deconstruction of the "Future Tense" episode of _Gargoyles_ to a young cast member who'd been a "huge fan" of the show. It was hardly the application process she thought she'd have, but after the thief had been apprehended by a couple of on-duty patrollers, the security head asked Elisa to come back the next day, to see if she could "help pick up the slack."

And she'd been doing that for a couple weeks now, though the main action she saw the blinking cursor on the computer screen in front of her as she typed up reports. It certainly wasn't her ideal situation, but at least it was _something_- at least, something more than singing autographs a hundred times a day. If the hiring freeze was ever lifted, at least she would have some relevant skills.

It was also kind of nice to be able to tell Goliath how her day _at work_ had gone, and to see the faint traces of pride Goliath carried for her, knowing the position was gained on merit and not on an imaginary crown.

But it was frustrating to be so tired all the time. Keeping both the daytime hours for the job and forcing herself to remain awake at night to have some contact with her mate wasn't as easy as she thought it might be. At the same time, it was a nice problem to have. The last time she checked, she was the only other Animasian to be employed outside of park entertainment, Xanatos being the other. And Xanatos…well, it was hard to say that he was gainfully employed, since a single car of his had yet to be sold. Hopefully, the Trinity venture would work out for him.

She opened the door to her apartment, gently nudging Cagney out of the way as the cat tried to dart out the open door. "I'm happy to see you too, pal," she said as the cat sulked back to his favorite corner on the couch. After changing out of her work attire into a more comfortable jeans and tee combo, she headed back to the kitchen, ready to prepare a quick supper before meeting up with Goliath and heading out for a meeting with the New Kingdom-

-and found Puck sitting on the kitchen countertop.

Elisa lunged for the drawer where she kept her gun and holster, only to find both missing.

"Really, Elisa…is this the way to greet old friends?" Puck asked, twirling the holster around his fingers. "And you should know that the potion that's in these little babies-" here he popped a capsule out of the gun and, after examining it between his thumb and forefinger, casually tossed it over his shoulder, "-are ludicrously ineffective against any mage worth his salt."

Elisa heard him, but was already dialing Matt's number. Before she even got halfway through the numbers, the phone cut dead.

"This is your best line of defense?" Puck asked incredulously, now floating over to where Elisa stood, receiver still gripped in her hand. "Two years to prepare for an attack by the Exiles and all you have is a phone tree?"

"So this is an attack?" Elisa demanded, at this point not knowing anything better to say.

"Good heavens, no!" Puck answered, looking faintly appalled. "You can't think I'd hurt you, Elisa?"

She gaped at him for a moment. "Did banishment give you amnesia? You summoned Chernabog along with the other Exiles! And then after he was destroyed, you turned on us!"

"Well, actually, I was never banished. And I didn't help with the summoning of that demon, thank you very much. I had much more common sense than the rest of those simpletons I had the misfortune of accompanying that night. And after cuddly ol' Chernabog was obliterated by about fifteen different spells hexing him at once, I was helping you guys against the Exiles, which didn't make me very popular with them."

"Yensid's banishment spell singled you out with the other four."

"Well, it would have since I did cast the Dissension spell. But the incantation was very specific: _"Guilt of all, shame of none.'_ If that were true, I wouldn't be here debating with you this lovely evening." The usual mirth that Puck carried with him was stilled for a moment as his voice took on a more somber tone. "I know better than you ever will the cost of that night. Believe me, Elisa, I have remorse. Now," he said, sprightly once again as he clapped his hands together and floated backwards, "how have you been?"

Still feeling trapped, Elisa said nothing. She had no inclination to trust him, but she couldn't help but wonder if he might have a point: Yensid's magic was the most powerful in Animasia. Puck, therefore, shouldn't be standing in front of her unless the parameters of the spell weren't met.

But she still didn't trust him.

"Cat got your tongue?" Puck asked after receiving no response. Cagney chose that moment to hop up onto the countertop and then into Puck's arms where the cat began to vigorously purr.

"Don't touch my cat!"

Puck sighed. "If you can't trust a cat, who can you really trust?" Puck set the cat down and shrugged. "I'll take leave of you, but before I do, I need to give you a message: David Xanatos asks that you meet in Atrium of the Eyrie to discuss his involvement in the emergence of the New Kingdom. He has heard there is a meeting tonight at the Palace and would like to accompany both you and Goliath as your guest. Toodles." And he was gone.

In the silence, the pounding in Elisa's chest slowed slightly from panic to imminent dread. Xanatos had found out about the New Kingdom without a member of the New Kingdom telling him of its existence. Which told her that Puck had probably been spying on them.

Throwing her holster on over her shoulder, Elisa ran into the night.


	15. Crossroads

_**Disclaimer**: Sondheim is brilliant and I am not. Disney is…I don't know what Disney is anymore, but as I am not employed by Disney, I really shouldn't be spending my time on this. But I am. Take that, sanity._

_**Author's note**: I am nothing, if not stubborn. To illustrate this point, the scene with Belle and her visitor below was a scene I was working on over five-effing years ago…on my honeymoon. You may now laugh. But it appears as though my stubbornness has produced a story that refuses to die, despite my best efforts to do it in, and the damn thing keeps growing. And so, without further ado, I bring you the conclusion of "Kingdom Come, Part One."_

Crossroads

"Sometimes the things you most wish for…are not to be touched."

-The Witch, "Into the Woods"

_That same night…_

The Grand Floridian Resort and Spa offers some of the most luxurious accommodations on Walt Disney World property.

As the CEO of the Walt Disney Company, Nicholas Misner had the resort's Grand Suite saved for him every time he visited central Florida. Five floors up from the pedestrian traffic and other plebian pursuits the hotel offered, the massive room offered a panoply of amenities, almost none of which he ever intended to use. He openly ridiculed the presence of the upright piano every time he booked the room, and he simply ignored the kitchen area altogether, save for the wet bar. No, what he enjoyed about the Grand Suite was the stellar view: stretching around the five balconies of the room, he could see the Seven Seas Lagoon, Cinderella's Castle, Space Mountain, the Contemporary, the Polynesian, and, when the haze wasn't oppressive, Spaceship Earth in the distance. And for all intents and purposes, it was all his, and enjoyed the visual reminder of what his kingdom encompassed.

He also enjoyed the privacy the suite offered.

Misner lay in the master suite's bed, his hands folded underneath his head as he watched Ella brush her hair in the vanity's mirror against the opposite wall. She watched him watching her; she smiled, but kept silent. He knew well enough by now that she wouldn't way a word until she had counted a full 100 strokes with her brush.

Soon enough, Ella slipped her brush back into the intricately stitched handbag she always brought with her when she went out for the night. Looking at Misner's reflection rather than the man himself, she asked, "How did your meeting with David go?"

He paused a moment before answering, "About as well as could be expected. How was your little chat with the mice?"

Lips pursed, she tartly responded, "Worse than yours, I'm sure." She sighed, her face losing its edge and her voice softening. "Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?"

"The week is booked. I'm going to be teleconferencing on the plane as it is."

"When will you be back?"

"Soon as I can."

Ella nodded. While she continued to address the mirror, her gaze slipped from Misner's reflection to the counter in front of her. "Who do you go home to?"

"My wife."

She looked back up into the mirror, unimpressed.

"A discreet someone, then," he corrected.

"Yes."

"Like you."

"Like me," she affirmed quietly.

"You'd really like to know?"

"I asked."

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

He paused, seeming to weigh the answer before him. "Ella, you have no counterpart in LA or anywhere else. There was a time when that was not the case, but that was before you. You've made me a monogamous man."

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Monogamous in my infidelity," he corrected with a crooked smile.

Ella shared in the self-satisfied grin. "I've spoiled you."

"You have," Misner said, his voice refreshingly earnest. "I don't need to bother with anyone else. You're the best I've found."

"Thank you."

"And cruelly eager. Repression agrees with you."

"You enjoy it."

"Immensely."

Ella stood slowly, walking over to the side of the bed where Misner lay, watching him follow each step. Behind her, the light from the vanity cast her body into shadow, haloed by the pale yellow camisole and slip she still wore.

She sat down next to him, tucking her left leg underneath her body. Bracing herself with her arm, she hovered close over his body. "How cruel would you like me to be?" she whispered. Despite her words, her eyes betrayed her delight.

He gladly played into it. "Evil."

"I might kill you."

"Good point. Not evil then. And not cruel either. Powerful."

"You know I'm not that strong."

"That's not what I mean. Powerful. In power. In _command._"

She backed away a bit. "We're not talking about the same things anymore, are we?"

"Soon enough. I'm talking about the future."

"What do you mean?"

Misner sat up, reaching for Ella's face and cupping her chin in his right hand. "Animasia. You. Us. The whole goddamn world, Ella, that's what I mean."

Sitting back, she waited for him to continue.

"Ella, you've always known what you wanted. You've always known what everyone in Animasia wanted. You're the reason why they've made it this far. You have foresight, you have persistence, you have this incredible aura to you that's been kept away from the spotlight too long."

She coquettishly batted her eyes. "What spotlight? I'm at Entourage events everyday-"

"That's just for show. You know that. You're called a princess and you should be a queen. Jesus, Ella, you're a goddess…"

"Nicholas, what are you talking about?"

"Who's in charge of Animasia right now?"

"Mickey." Her face shifted into a pout. "If you can call what he does leadership."

"Exactly. He's a friggin' mascot. He has no right to be in charge of your future. He's an old fart who doesn't get what would be good for Animasia. You know what Animasia needs, Ella, you've known that forever."

"Little good that did."

"It did everything. Because you persisted- you're here. Animasia is finally part of the world. Because of you. And that sort of accomplishment should be rewarded."

"How?"

"You should be in charge of Animasia."

She looked at him cautiously. "Nicholas, how much did you have to drink tonight?"

He waved her off. "Not nearly enough."

"One doesn't simply become the leader of Animasia-"

"Have you tried?"

"I'm not going to be a part of anything violent-"

"Ella, there are far more creative ways of getting a hold of power than bloody coups. I don't want to hurt the bastard, I just want to put him in his place. So you can take his."

Ella was quiet for a long time, staring at the sheets. "It sounds…promising," she finally said, still not looking at him.

"But…"

"No 'buts.' Just an 'and.'"

"You are certainly driven, my dear."

When she spoke next, she looked straight at him and spoke with a determined resolution he found inordinately attractive. "I will assume responsibility for Animasia, and you will uphold your end of our original bargain."

He smirked. "I've been trying."

"Try harder."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, don't call me 'ma'am.'" She gracefully flopped down onto the bed, somehow not mussing a single hair as her head hit the pillow. "'Ma'am' makes me sound so old. Though…I suppose I _am_ a bit…matured."

"Ella, if you're what passes for 'mature' these days, just take me to the old folks home now."

"You're terrible."

"You're radiant."

She smiled. "Tell me that again."

Misner continued to enumerate Ella's many attributes as the lights switched off. Exposition soon became unnecessary.

* * *

Elisa stood at the foot of the Eyrie, gritting her teeth.

_Anywhere_but here.

She'd tried to run to Mickey's house, she tried to reach the Palace where the members of the New Kingdom were probably assembling, she even tried a mad dash to the Town Hall to raise the alarm that would sound throughout Animasia, discretion be damned- she'd rather deal with a panicked, informed populace than an panicked, ignorant one. But no matter what direction she chose, no matter how fast she ran, no matter how much she willed herself to her desired destination, she kept ending up in front of the glass doors of the Eyrie. Unless the magic of Animasia itself had begun to unravel, Puck's hand was all over her futile travels.

Stupid, manic fairy.

With no other direction possible, Elisa sucked in her breath then resolutely strode forward into the lobby of the skyscraper. She didn't even have to bother with the elevator; as soon as she crossed the threshold, the entryway dissolved into the garden-like, bucolic Atrium a hundred stories up.

Xanatos was already there, his back turned toward her as he surveyed the city below. Seeing her reflection appear in the window, he turned with his most welcoming mien. "Ah, Detective-"

"Can it, Xanatos," Elisa barked, already drawing her cuffs and hating the fact that another member of her own Kingdom was about to be linked to the terror of the Exiles. "You're under arrest for-"

"-colluding with a known Exile, impeding a criminal investigation and risking Animasian safety. Or I will be, if you continue this arrest."

"Don't be clever."

"That's against my nature."

Elisa continued to advance, but Xanatos never seemed any closer. Slowing down, then stopping, Elisa realized that the same magic that had guided her here was now preventing her from fulfilling her duty. She swore. Loudly.

"I apologize for the rather drastic steps Puck is taking at the moment, but I need your attention, and I doubt I would have it if you were spewing Miranda at me. I promise you that if you don't agree with what I'm about to say, I will go quietly with you."

Seeing that she had no other choice, Elisa waited for Xanatos to continue.

"Thank you, Detective. And now that I have your attention, may I ask you how you're planning to finance this little venture you're involved with?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"The New Kingdom."

The dread that she'd been carrying punched her from inside and she felt queasy tendrils slipping down her limbs from the pit of her stomach. It was bad enough that Puck had announced his knowledge of this one vital secret; now Xanatos confirmed the incursion. "Never heard of it," she said.

Xanatos regarded her with a faint look of disappointment. "Games aren't going to help anyone at this point, Elisa. I'm being honest with you: you know Puck is here and that he's in my employ. You will be free to act upon that as you see fit in a few minutes. I'd like you to be honest with me now: how do you plan to finance the emergence of the New Kingdom?"

She didn't want to play along, but the arguments were getting too circular for her taste. "Since you seem to know so much about this 'New Kingdom' thing, you probably already know how it's going to work."

"I'm glad you're starting to give me some credit. And the plan that you have is naïve at best. Do you think that the company, that _this_ company, is willingly going to parcel you off a couple acres of land to set up a renegade state?"

His words hit a raw nerve. "That's not what we're doing."

"That's exactly what you're doing. You've just never heard it phrased that way. How does Mickey think he can get a room full of bureaucrats to ignore every federal and state law regarding commercial property and hand over some of the most valuable real estate on the planet to a bunch of creatures no regulating body has concluded even properly exists?"

"So what the hell are you doing with Trinity?"

"I'm merely playing by the long-established rules, Detective. I am not doing anything extraordinary: I have a product to sell, one which Lexington was kind enough to dumb down for mass appeal. I have followed all the proper channels in securing loans, registering patents and turning a profit. Trinity is succeeding specifically because there's nothing new being offered, just a mere variation on a theme. I'm not trying to forge a breakaway nation."

"Stop calling it that!"

"That's what the government will call it. Which isn't to say I disagree with what you're trying to accomplish. You just need a better way to go about it."

"And you have that better way?"

"Why else would I have brought you here? Animasia needs an ambassador."

"You're volunteering for the job, then?"

"Hardly. You are."

She crossed her arms. "Really."

"You're the best candidate I can think of. You're a Toon, but most people don't know who you are, so they won't have any preconceived notion about you. Since you appear human, other humans will take you seriously, and your heritage is multi-ethnic, so you have an automatic in with minority groups. You're extremely attractive, so all the old white men you'll have to deal with will be more willing to hear you out, but you're also intelligent and competent, so all the plain-faced women you meet won't automatically hate you." He paused. "Your choice in a mate is unconventional, but ultimately I think we can chalk that up in the 'diversity' column."

Elisa stared at Xanatos for a dumbfounded second as her life had just been parceled away into convenient sound bites. "And in your skewed worldview, what would I be doing as your ambassador?"

"Not my ambassador. Animasia's."

"Supposing I don't can your ass after this, why?"

"Because we don't have enough cash for a lobbyist. And 'ambassador' sounds so much more benign."

It had been intended for a weak joke. Elisa simply construed it as the last straw. "David Xanatos, you are under arrest for-"

"I'm not done." He pressed an intercom on the wall. "Owen," he summoned.

A door on the wall slid open and Owen Burnett appeared, carrying an attaché case. And Elisa, despite her fury at her being held against her will while one of the greatest threats Animasia had ever faced casually strolled into the room, couldn't help but wonder what was in the case. "What's that?"

"Proof that our Chief Executive Officer is a bastard and a liar," Xanatos replied. Owen held out the case for Xanatos to open; he quickly drew out several papers for her to look at. "This is a copy of the original contract I signed- that we all signed- before Integration. Nicholas Misner presented me with a forged copy this evening that only a fool would have signed. I disputed it, of course, but I don't know how many of our compatriots would have done the same."

"Why were you looking at your contract?" Elisa asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Misner believes that the Excalibur belongs to the Disney Company, as per the fake contract stipulates."

"It's Lexington's."

"Trinity's," Xanatos corrected, "with the patent going to Lexington. I'm not worried about the forgery- that's easy enough to prove in my favor. What concerns me is how easily Misner thinks we can be duped. What concerns me even more is I think he is correct. The majority of Animasia wouldn't have a clue what to do if they were confronted with something like this, and I know that had to be intentional on the part of our 'instructors.'"

She was getting drawn in, and she had to stop. "As fascinating as this all is, what does any of this have to do with the fact that you have Public Enemy Number One working for you?"

"Everything."

"Excuse me, Mr. Xanatos," Owen interrupted, setting the attaché case down on the ground, "but I have a prior appointment that I need to attend to."

Xanatos glanced at his assistant, then nodded.

"You're just going to let him go!" Elisa exploded as Owen turned and left.

"I trust him," Xanatos said with finality.

"I don't. I _can't._"

"You'll learn to. I did. I didn't when he first reappeared after the Night of Dissension. He had to work very hard to regain my trust. I had no interest in being duped again."

"He could still be playing you. You know how much he likes to mess around with people."

"The Puck does like his games," Xanatos allowed. "But it's only games that he specialized in, not tyranny and domination. You're familiar enough with the binding magic of Animasia: Yensid's spell should still be in place if Puck was guilty of the crimes listed in the incantation. There are no other Exiles free."

"That you know of."

"Do you really think Maleficent and Jafar would be subdued in announcing their return to Animasia?"

Elisa knew the answer to _that._

"Exactly. I am comfortable keeping Puck's whereabouts hidden until the time is right. And now I'm asking you to do the same."

His audacity was stunning. "You've got to be kidding."

He didn't seem to hear her. "Trinity is poised to bring about a revolution in the automotive industry. And there are ideas floating around in Lex's brain that will undoubtedly revolutionize various other industries in the time to come. I can market those ideas with a great deal of panache, but not if I'm stuck behind a desk worrying about spreadsheets and 401Ks. Owen, ironically, handles the mundane with great finesse. I need him if Trinity is to become all that I think it can become. And you, as an ardent supporter of the New Kingdom, need Trinity to succeed."

"Why?"

"Because a successful Trinity can give you cash and connections, both of which you'll need if you want to see this dream of yours happen. Hell, it _needs_ to happens if Toons are ever going to be taken seriously. We weren't exactly greeted as equals at the auto show." He smirked. "Then we got to show off the Excalibur, and I don't think I'll ever again see so many grown men cry.

"Elisa, Animasia needs you to bridge our worlds, as it were, even if no one realizes that yet. We can't simply remain a curiosity for ticket holders while Congress dithers around trying _not_ to do anything about us. We have to be proactive in engaging humanity before something occurs that could irrevocably damage any future relationship with them."

"Like what?" Elisa asked, trying to shake off the ominous tone Xanatos had slipped into.

"Aren't you supposed to think of worst case scenarios? Genie could snap his fingers and enslave humanity to do his bidding. Yensid, by default, is even more powerful than that. Merlin could whisk Wart away to England and demand that Queen Elizabeth abdicate the throne, since the once and future king has returned. Bambi, Todd and Pocahontas could team up and wage guerrilla warfare every hunting season. Fortunately, no one here thinks that way-"

"Except you."

"-but that doesn't take into account accidents. Genie might not be in any hurry to have an army of slaves, but what if he zaps some four-year-old into a unicorn because she told him that she always wanted to be a unicorn? He doesn't always show the best judgment. And then what happens to the rest of us in the backlash? What happens when the humans realize what we are actually capable of?

"And that's where you come in: making the denizens of Animasia look as normal as possible. Getting as much exposure as possible to minimize our otherness. Getting Congress to realize our value and potential as allies and _citizens_, and in the process, getting government support to fund the New Kingdom. Because I can assure you that the Walt Disney Company under Nicholas Misner wants none of that. I am asking you to do this because you are one of the most pragmatic individuals here. You know that I'm telling the truth, and despite whatever reservations you might have, I know you will act in the best interests of Animasia."

It bothered Elisa to no end that this was the most sensible thing she heard discussed since Animasia's emergence.

It bothered her even more that she agreed with Xanatos.

All the meetings with the other members of the New Kingdom had never been like this; they were always focused on _what it would be like_ and _what we can accomplish when_. Even if they hadn't intended to, the meetings had turned into wishing rather than practical aims and goals. But if she could kick start this thing…

But if _Puck_ were the lynchpin in all of this…

"Elisa?"

Every thought, breath, heartbeat froze when Elisa heard the voice of the sudden newcomer behind her.

_Goliath_

Xanatos covered as quickly as if he had been expecting the gargoyle…which, perhaps he had. "Goliath! Good to see you. I was regaling the detective here with Nick Misner's latest act of depravity, and I had just expressed my desire to do something about his hold over Animasia."

In the window's reflection, Elisa could see that Goliath was still across the room. Glaring at Xanatos, she angrily hissed, "You said I'd be free to act-"

"I'm not doing anything to stop you," Xanatos said calmly.

She heard the gentle swish of Goliath's wings approaching. She would tell Goliath all that Xanatos had told her.

And then Goliath would promptly throttle Xanatos. As would any free member of Animasia once they discovered Puck's involvement. Working with an Exile? Madness. Treacherous. There were absolutes to be obeyed. The Exiles were not to be shown any mercy if they somehow escaped their prison. She was responsible for leading the charge against any hint of an incursion. And she was just going to overlook the fact that Puck was rambling about Animasia- and possibly the _world-_ scott free? Her own ambivalence about the matter was not a resounding endorsement of the Puck's character.

But damn it all to hell, they _needed_ Xanatos. If Xanatos were incarcerated, they would lose one of the better minds Animasia possessed, and the only one who had come forward to help the cause of the New Kingdom. They needed someone who was working outside of Animasia and wasn't intimidated by Misner and his cronies, someone who could cultivate relationships in other companies and other sectors that didn't have a thing to do with entertainment. They needed his mind for planning, his obvious knack for strategy, his ability to understand the potential of darkness without being evil himself.

But _Puck…_

…who shouldn't be free unless the parameters of the spell weren't met…

…unless Yensid had _really_ screwed up…

…but none of the other Exiles had escaped…

Goliath approached her and she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "I thought we were meeting in the Great Hall- are you all right? You're pale."

"She was pretty angry when she heard what I had to say," Xanatos said.

She heard his voice turn to a cautionary rumble. "Elisa can answer for herself." Then more gently, directed at her: "Are you all right?"

She nodded, looking up at her mate. She saw his concern for her, his shoulders hunched so slightly with tension, waiting for her answer.

Was the good of Animasia worth his trust in her?

"I'm fine," she heard herself tell him. "Misner is apparently in the market for forgeries these days."

It wasn't a lie. She wasn't lying to him. She was just…editing the evening's conversation.

For the good of Animasia.

Xanatos began filling in Goliath on his interview with Misner; Goliath's frown deepened with every sentence. When Xanatos finished, Goliath looked at her, and she knew exactly what he was planning; she simply knew him that well. She nodded in agreement.

And felt like such a heel.

"Xanatos, would you come with us to a…gathering this evening?" Goliath asked. "There are others who would be interested in what you have told us."

He looked appropriately surprised and intrigued. Elisa wanted to kick him. "When do we leave?" Xanatos asked.

"Now."

"All right. I think I can fit it into my schedule," he said amiably.

"Then let's go."

There was nothing more Elisa could say as Goliath took her side, Xanatos keeping a respectful distance behind them. She threw one last glare back at Xanatos, hoping she could send as much meaning as possible in it: _Don't make me regret this._

Xanatos nodded, his face solemn, and continued walking in silence.

* * *

"_Where have you been?"_

Belle hadn't crossed the threshold to the cottage before Gaston barreled over to her, swept her into his arms and fiercely embraced her. "I was about to call a patrol and start looking for you. Do you have any idea how late it is?"

She didn't. Nor did she particularly care. But there was an agitated pitch to Gaston's words, a timbre she'd never heard him use before, and that was enough to brush away her tumbling thoughts and place her firmly, presently into the entryway of her cottage. The grandfather clock in the sitting room read a quarter to eleven. Epcot closed at nine. Her canceled reading engagement was supposed to have started at seven. No wonder he was bothered.

"I'm sorry, Gaston. I lost track of time. I didn't even know you were waiting for me."

"What were you doing out so late, Belle?"

"Taking a walk." She inwardly winced at the déjà vu their conversation induced.

"It's going on midnight! Did something happen at the park?"

"No. I never made into the park. Alder never let me out."

"That son of a bitch."

"Yes. So, I was angry and I didn't want to be stuck in here…" She looked around the walls of the cottage. "…so I came back to Animasia and walked around the kingdoms, trying to clear my head."

"You were out walking that whole time?"

"Well…" It was better if she just told him. There certainly wasn't anything to hide. "I…I actually ran into Beast."

"Oh," Gaston replied, sounding concerned. "Did you talk to him?"

"We…" She sighed, trying to find the right term for whatever had passed in the woods. "We had a big argument."

"Really?"

"You don't have to sound so happy."

"I'm not happy."

She looked at his face, reading his features. "You're relieved."

"I'm just glad he didn't hurt you."

She groaned, her shoulders sagging. "How many times do we have to go through this? He's not going to hurt me, and he never would have if it hadn't been for the Exiles-" She saw his jaw set, and his eyes, cast in the shadow of a flickering lamp, suddenly darkened. In that second, he looked like…Gaston, but not _her_Gaston. She took a step back from him.

The look instantly vanished. "What?"

"You…" She wasn't sure _what_ she'd seen. Fearing that her eyes were playing tricks, she let it drop. Then she saw the open portfolio on the table. "What's that?" she asked, looking at the binder.

"Before you get mad-"

"That's not a good way to start a conversation." Without waiting for him to continue, she walked over to the table and began flipping through pages. "Fabric swatches?"

"For the...bridesmaids' dresses, I suppose. There's more."

Then she turned to the cover. " 'Property of The Walt Disney Company. Proposal for Toon Reality Show.' _Gaston!"_ she hollered, slamming the binder shut.

Throwing his arms up defensively, Gaston began, "It's not what it looks like."

"Then what is it?"

"…all right, it's exactly what it looks like. But look, I was trying to make you happy."

"By making me look like an idiot?"

"Don't be dramatic, Belle-"

"I told Alder you'd never make a decision like this without letting me know. I told him that you'd never do something like this to me."

"I wasn't doing this to you, I was doing this for you. I thought you'd be happy to get out of here. You keep letting those schmucks get away with putting you down and I'm sick of it. No one hurts my girl and gets away with it."

"So you just agreed to do what they want us to do?"

"Who said we have to do what they want? I told them we'd film the show-"

"You agreed that _you'd_ do the show. _I_ never agreed to that."

"What do you want me to do, Belle? Whatever I do, it's not the right thing."

"This shouldn't have been that hard for you. You know how I felt about this. You should have known how I was going to react."

"By tearing my head off?"

"If that's what it takes. Do you really want the world to see us like this? Do you really want everything we say to be entertainment fodder for millions of strangers?"

"It already is. It's not _that_ bad."

"Please ignore your ego for a moment. _I_ don't want the attention. _I_ don't want the media all over us. I don't want all the publicity-"

"Well, you're the smart one. Shouldn't your holier-than-thou bookworm brains figured a way out of this since you haven't been doing anything for a month? "

Silence careened into the room. "Get out," Belle whispered.

"What?"

"I don't want to talk to you right now. I _really_ don't want to have this conversation with you right now."

Gaston nodded slowly, drawing a breath so deep he seemed to still the air. "So you'll talk things out with your hairy ex and you can't stand to be around your fiancé. That's great, Belle." His boots echoing throughout the cottage like tympanis, he slammed the door behind him.

Belle didn't let herself think about their exchange. She simply poured water from the kitchen pitcher into an awaiting teapot, then slammed the kettle into glowing embers of the kitchen hearth. Sparks flew and crackled around her and she didn't notice them. Then she turned, walked slowly over to the corner of the cottage where her bookshelves stood, and very gently, brought her forehead down to rest on the spines of the volumes that lay at eye level. The cool bits of leather and cloth tempered the heat she felt flushing her face. She had often sought solace in the pages of books, but it was a cruel irony that they were currently her only means of physical comfort as well. The embers snapped occasionally, and all she let herself think about was if she would have an imprint of the Bard's good name embedded backwards across her forehead.

"He's not the most sensitive brute, is he?"

She screamed.

The mere noise startled her, but it was the voice that induced the fear.

Belle turned, knowing who she'd find.

Puck the Trickster stood in her kitchen, smiling benevolently at her. "Not quite the reaction I was hoping for, but I can't say as I blame you."

Anger devoured any fear that lingered. Fury rollicked through her; her patience, her resilience, her compassion were gone. She wanted to _hurt_ him.

Very, very badly.

"Out of all the people in Animasia, I know you would be the least likely to greet me with any affection…"

He kept talking; she didn't care to hear. One lingering sense of logic darted her eyes to the parlor's fireplace and the stoker resting just a yard away.

"…so I just _had_ to make a house call, you see…"

She lunged for the stoker, grabbed it in both hands and slammed it into the bricks around the fireplace.

The result was exactly what she hoped for: Puck keeled over mid-sentence as the iron-saturated sound waves knelled across the room. She held her weapon loosely, needing the resonance to continue. When he didn't move, she gave the fireplace another crack, then slowly walked over to his prostrate form, keeping the sharp end pointed at him.

As she approached, his eyes remained unfocused, pointed towards the ceiling but not looking at it. Some sense seeped back into her; how could she go for help? If she left, he might revive and vanish. Or if he didn't revive…she suddenly realized that was an "if" she had never wanted to use, even on an Exile.

"That," Puck said groggily, scaring Belle back a foot, "was the most intelligent act I've witnessed this year. Possibly ever. Fortunately," he continued, magically wresting the stoker away from Belle and sending it hurtling out an open window (that Belle knew hadn't been open before), "only human-grade iron is truly ruinous for the fey folk. But major points for trying, kiddo."

Suddenly weaponless and with a mounting conscience, Belle backed away until her spine ran into the cupboards in the kitchen. Puck collected himself from the floor and dusted himself off. "I would even put that in the karmanic category: we hurt you, you hurt us. One down, four to go. Lucky for them, they're still in Exile."

"Back to finish what you started?" Belle asked quietly, finding her voice. She was no longer certain if she was scared; she just wanted him gone.

"No!" Puck exclaimed. "I never wanted you hurt."

She stared at him.

"_I_ didn't," he repeated. "And I found out too late to stop those who did. The Night of Dissension was supposed to be a big practical joke. And I fell for it." He paused, looking at her. She realized that she'd never heard so much sincerity in his voice. Even in the days when she could have considered him a friend, there was always something going on in the background of his tone, some game or some secret never divulged. Now, there was nothing hidden. "You have to realize, Belle, that you and Beast were the only bright spot amid a frustratingly pedantic assortment of cookie-cutter princes and princesses. Whether you realized it or not, the two of you defied nearly every convention this place had. Not to mention, your relationship _was_ kind of kinky."

The desire to throttle him again briefly flared.

"Why would I have wanted to break up the best Animasia had to offer?"

She didn't even know why she asked, but she found a sentence escaping her: "What about Goliath and Elisa?"

"Bo-_ring_. One track minds, both of them: honor, protection, sacrifice, blah blah blah. You'd never guess we came from the same kingdom. But you two…you had spitfire. You had something real. You still do, as just evidenced, but Beast…well, I've seen stuffed trophies that have a more optimistic view of life."

"I wonder why that would be."

"Well, that's why I'm here. To make amends."

"Amends?" she echoed quietly. Then she giggled, high-pitched and mirthless. "Amends? Can you undo that night? Can you take back the last three years?"

Looking down at the wedding binder, Puck asked, "Why would I want to do that if you're going to be happily married to Mr. Neanderthal?"

No answer came.

"Uh-huh. I have tried with Beast. Now, if I were to attempt a one-on-one with him, like I am with you, I have no doubt that he would rip me apart, magic be damned. He would find a way. I've been more subtle, trying to coax him out of those shadows he seems to keep as company lately. You would have been wandering solo this evening if I hadn't planted the thought in him that tonight really was a fine evening for a stroll." He sighed. "He completely wasted the material: a moonlit night, two lost lovers meeting by chance under the cloak of a springtime forest with more words than their hearts can hold…and nothing.

"I have something much more concrete for you."

"And what's that?"

"A present." He held out his hand and a pendant dropped down, suspended on a gold chain. As it slowed its swinging, Belle saw a perfectly formed cloisonné rosebud, its petals a mosaic of reds tipped in gold.

"A necklace," she stated flatly.

"A ticket. A one-way trip out of matrimonially ever after and public appearance hell. If you slip this on, you will become human. And don't worry; old Puck wouldn't pull the fish-out-of-water scam on you. The second you make your decision, the moment this chain drapes around your neck, you will be set for life: a full scholarship to the college of your choice, a bank account with 100 grand, licenses of every shade, a certified passport and birth certificate, and a handful of credit cards for good measure…although you might want to steer clear of these. People called the Exiles evil, but we never charged 27% APR."

Had he come to her that night alone in New York, she would have reached out for it. At the very least she would have considered what was put before her.

Freedom.

She said the only words she knew to give: "Please leave."

Puck nodded. "I understand. I understand so well that I am going to leave this in your nightstand drawer, should you change your mind. Oh, I almost forgot. The caveat?"

"Of course."

"The decision is final. You wouldn't be able to change back into an Animasian."

"I'd be mortal."

"Yes."

"Please leave."

He began to float away. Before he left, he turned back. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for all that you've been through. Since you asked…if it were in my power…I would undo all of it. "

And he was gone.

The window closed and the fire stoker appeared, serenely standing by the fireplace.

Belle remained standing, stock still against the cabinets. She couldn't get her legs to move towards the chair, and she doubted they would be able to carry her that far. Her mind, earlier so full of tumult, could only process one simple goal:

She had to tell someone what had just happened.

_Mickey! Puck just came to see me!_

_Great Scott! What did he want?_

_He wanted to apologize for what happened with Beast._

…_what happened with Beast?_

And they'd take him away.

The walls have ears.

_No matter how quietly she spoke, no matter how secluded a spot, word would get out. And the scandal would not be that Puck the Exile had escaped; Yensid could surely handle that little imp. No, the story that would be spun was The Beast colluded with the Exiles, and Belle had been his sole unfortunate victim. Why, the girl was so terrified of him, no wonder she left the castle! He must have threatened her if she ever spoke out against him, the poor dear. There would be accusations, a trial, the verdict decided before he ever appeared before the jury. And he would accept all of it. The lies, the malice, banishment because he felt he deserved it. She saw him being led away, bound in shackles but resolute in his fate, even relieved that he would be finally and appropriately punished._

_She saw him looking at her for one last time._

_He gave her the smallest of smiles as he was led out._

_"You're safe now," he told her…_

What was safe with an Exile loose?

Except…Puck hadn't hurt her.

_the fire that seared across her face_

Beast had.

_his talons digging through her_

In more ways than he knew.

_with hands that held her sacred_

Because of the Exiles.

One of whom was free.

She had to tell someone.

Boot falls entered from the front door. If Gaston wanted to, he could be silent. He was giving her the heads up that he was on his way in. Given the last visitor, the gesture seemed downright courtly.

Gaston would know what to do. He was good at making decisions, good at seizing the moment and acting upon it. Even if she didn't always like what he decided to do. But he always acted, rather than standing in a corner afraid to make decisions.

She watched him enter the kitchen, his face etched in contrition. "That was the dumbest thing I've ever said."

What had he said? She couldn't remember. She knew they fought earlier, but it seemed so far away now, and trivial. Somehow, she found the words to reply: "Gaston…we live forever. I'm sure you'll come up with a way to top yourself."

She knew she didn't sound normal. It must have showed, because the contrition on his face changed to concern. "Belle?"

"I had a visitor while you were gone," she said.

He did a double take between the clock and her. "Who?"

"Puck."

His reaction was the last one she expected to see. She expected shock, anger, more concern for her well-being, something other than a mirror to her own stupor. And then she realized something that scared her more than anything else that had happened that night.

Gaston was afraid.

"What did he want?" he asked. He said it low, as if he was expecting someone to listen in. Maybe there was.

"He wanted to apologize. For the Night of Dissension."

"Did he say anything else?"

She thought about his parting words to undo the past and of the pendant that, if she were to go to her bed stand right now and open the drawer, she was sure to find. "Mostly nonsense. He is Puck."

"That was it?"

She nodded.

The change over him was instant. In one long stride he had gathered her up into his arms, surrounding her with his might. She didn't want him to let go. She didn't want to stop feeling so protected. She wanted to stay in this moment, where she was certain of his love for her and his willingness to do whatever he needed to protect her. "Thank God you're all right."

"I am. But we need to go tell Mickey what happened."

"No."

She loosened her hold around him. "No?"

"Not…right now."

"Why not?"

"It's past midnight."

If there was an obvious connection, she didn't see it. "So?"

"It's back from the battle on the plains. From that Night. There were some nasty spells being cast. Yensid cast some kind of counter spell using their spells against them. It's like…when human kids get shots at the doctor's, Elaine talked about them once…"

"Vaccines?" Belle offered.

"That's right. It was like that. Yensid's spell didn't do anything that night, but it prevented any future attack spells from being cast after midnight. So even if all the other Exiles were roaming free right now, they couldn't do anything."

"But shouldn't everyone be prepared if they do attack whenever the limits of the spell run out?"

"They will be, because the security detail has warning charms and gadgets to let them know if any evil magic is being cast. We learned a lot after the Night of Dissension and we're prepared for an attack."

"Why didn't I know about any of that?"

"Well, a lot of it was done right after, and you weren't exactly available at the time."

Belle leaned into him again, resting her head against his chest. "I suppose I wasn't."

"Tomorrow morning, I'll go talk to Mickey and tell him what happened."

"We'll both go."

"Belle, I don't want you to have to worry about this anymore. I'll take care of it."

"Then don't tell Mickey _what_ Puck was apologizing for."

"Isn't that missing the point?"

"The point is that there's an escaped Exile who's randomly visiting Animasians. That should be enough to concern him."

"All right," he reluctantly allowed.

They remained together, their words spent. After some time, Belle quietly said, "Please don't go."

Gaston looked down at her. "You want me to stay?"

She nodded.

"The night?"

"That was the idea," she gave him a small grin. "There's a spare room across from mine."

"It would be an honor."

She led him to the foot of the staircase, holding his hand. "And after you see Mickey, you can tell Mr. Brian Alder that we expect to have an 8 PM slot."

"Are you sure?" he asked cautiously.

Nodding, Belle replied, "I want the rest of the world to see how good you really are."

And with that, Gaston swept her off her feet and carried her up the stairs and to her room, sanctuary in the dark of night.

* * *

Despite the brightness of the risen half-moon, Mickey's thoughts remained buried in the shadows.

He seemed to feel discouraged a lot lately.

As Minnie closed the door to their house behind them, Mickey leaned on the porch railing, pondering the inevitable.

The New Kingdom was going to fail.

All that they were trying to accomplish was based on the notion that more, many more people would be involved by now, disgusted with their treatment by the company.

That wasn't happening.

He felt time slipping away, that _something_ would happen before they could establish any roots for the New Kingdom to truly take hold. And they'd be left with an Animasia that withered away, atrophied by the influence of the outside world, mined for its glory to people who had no care for its ultimate worth.

"It's not as bad as you think."

Mickey shook his head, quietly marveling at Minnie's powers of perception. "Yeah. It's probably worse."

"Oh, Mickey-"

A voice rang down from the garden path. "Mickey! _Mickey!"_

Even in the darkness, the voice was unmistakable. "Ella?" Mickey asked incredulously.

She was _running_, barely stopping to open the gate as she hurried up the pathway. "Mickey! Oh, I'm so sorry about this afternoon! I was so rude!

"Um-"

"I just…I didn't _know-_"

"Ella, are you okay?"

"It's Misner! He wants to get rid of you, Mickey!"

"What?"

"He told me. He wants you to stop leading Animasia."

"He _what?"_

While Mickey reeled, Minnie was troubled by something else entirely. "Why would he tell you that, Ella?"

"He trusts me."

"He trusts you so much that he thinks you'd betray Mickey?"

"But I'm not! I'm here telling you what he told me. He…" Ella hung her head, bought her hands up to her chest and started knitting her fingers together. "I began talking to him at Entourage events. He came to know how unhappy I was before Integration. I probably confided in him more than I should have about our life here. He assumed that I would be…_amenable_ to a change in leadership. Mickey, I didn't know what he was planning."

"So what did you tell him?" Minnie asked sharply.

"I went along with it, of course. Who knows what he would have done to me if I had refused? Besides, don't you want me to know what's going on so that I can tell you when he might act upon his decision?"

Minnie didn't reply. Mickey, meanwhile, seemed to have collected himself. Looking up at Ella, he began, "Ella…thanks. I know we haven't gotten along lately, but this really means the world to me that you told us what was going on." He paused. "You're in this for the long haul? And you're okay with that?"

Slowly, Ella nodded. "I think…I think I have a lot to make up for. And this would be the best way to do it."

"Okay." He paused again, considering. "We were on our way somewhere. Did you want to come along?"

"Mickey!" Minnie whispered, unabashedly aghast.

Before he could answer her, another visitor came careening towards the house. Donald ran full tilt, skidding past the garden gate. He leaned on the fence, panting heavily.

"Donald! What's wrong?"

"The door…there's a new door," Donald sputtered out as he gasped for breath. "By the Town Hall…there's a new door…there's another Kingdom, Mickey…there's a new one."

Mickey stood, quietly gaping at his friend as he felt the eyes of both Minnie and Ella trail onto him, waiting for his next words.

In five minutes time, the world had become much more complicated.

"Let's go."


End file.
